


Forever Love

by Calysta18



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 06:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9872069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calysta18/pseuds/Calysta18
Summary: Love is eternal throughout time - a sort of alternate universe Sam and Dean!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at the Sam and Dean Archive - old story with a new home.   
> Song is Reba McEntire's beautiful "Forever Love"

**"Love is eternal throughout time"**

 

Beatrice Connors looked up at the large framed photograph as she had every day for as long as she could remember. She smiled berating herself silently for her foolishness. Her obsession with the photograph made her daughter mad but she couldn't keep away. Beatrice loved him, had always loved him since the day he came into her life. "He'll come back to you," she whispered as she reached up and touched the smiling face of the photograph. "I promise."

 

**A month later.........**

 

Dean Winchester stared at his reflection in the mirror. He still had a black eye and the bruise on his cheek was fading to a yellowish tinge. Dean sighed as he gently poked at the faded bruising wincing when his fingers touched a particularly tender spot.

He stared at his reflection again hating himself. Wondering what he had done to deserve being him. He was 27 years old. A hunter who fought demons, werewolves, angry spirits and evil every day of his life. Weapons were second nature to him, felt familiar in his hands. He had no friends and the open road was his home. All his belongings, everything he owned in the world, was packed tightly into one battered looking bag. As a hunter he was afraid of nothing, the darkness and the supernatural held no fear for him. But terror consumed him, lived with him every day threatening to choke him. And it wasn't the dark or supernatural that frightened him and haunted his nightmares. Dean Winchester was terrified of his father and he hated himself for it. Hated the fact that he couldn't help trembling when his father was close to him. Hated the fact that deep within him he was always afraid. Hated the fact that he always seemed to be waiting for his father to hit him for some reason or another. Over the years the reasons had run into one another and Dean was no longer sure what he did or said to make his father so angry with him all the time. Deep down he knew that his father had forgotten the reason too. Dean was just there. He was someone to lash out at and take out his anger and frustration on.

They were both victims. Victims of one night that had changed their lives forever. His father had changed from a loving parent the night his mother and baby brother had been killed in a fire by a demon. John Winchester had become a ruthless killing machine that night driven by revenge and an obsession that took over his very being saturating his every waking hour. His father had lost his soul that night and Dean's childhood had been filled with angry words, broken bones, black eyes, hand and foot shaped bruises all over his body and apologies from a sobbing father who was always so sorry afterwards. And it was usually OK for a few days or sometimes even weeks before the next beating.

Dean knew he was useless, worthless and stupid. He didn't need his father to tell him all the time. Dean knew he deserved the beatings but it never got any easier. Never hurt any less. Even as a grown man, his father could reduce him to a trembling heap begging him to stop. And now his father never sobbed apologies, was never sorry. Dean never fought back. He loved his father despite everything and Dean had admitted to himself that he was afraid that if he retaliated his deeply hidden hurt and anger would surge up taking control causing him to kill his father. Dean was afraid that once he started hitting his father, he wouldn't be able to stop.

Dean hid himself and his fear behind carefully constructed shields. They surrounded and protected him from the outside world. To everyone that met him he was Dean Winchester cocky and confident hunter afraid of nothing and no-one. Nobody guessed that he was afraid all the time and no-one ever saw his fear except for his father and he didn't care. Along with his fear the real Dean Winchester was pushed down deep within him. He never let the real Dean see the light of day afraid that everybody would hate that person too.

But Dean desperately wanted to escape, wanted to run away and hide but he couldn't bring himself to leave his father alone in the world. He had lost so much. And if he was really honest with himself Dean was just too frightened to leave. Frightened that his father would hunt him down and kill him, probably in a drunken rage, for leaving. Fear and love kept him prisoner in his own private hell and Dean was trapped in a vicious circle that he would never escape from and he hated it and himself. He just wanted someone to love him. Be gentle and kind to him. Wanted to love someone who would love him back. He didn't think it was too much to ask.

Dean wiped at the tears that he hadn't realised were running down his face. He was so tired. Tired of his life and tired of being his father's punch bag. He was so desperately unhappy and his whole body ached with the misery and just lately he could feel himself crumbling under the pressure of trying to keep himself together. "Suck it up Winchester," Dean chastised himself as he lent forwards splashing cold water onto his face. Dean rolled his sleeves back down over his bruised forearms and wrists as he moved back into the bedroom. Dean knew he had a few hours before they were leaving for their next hunt. He slumped down on the bed and closed his eyes hoping that sleep would rescue him for a little while from his misery. He rolled over curling up into a ball hugging his arms around himself desperately trying to stop the ache that threatened to overwhelm him.

 

**Four hours later........**

 

The four hour drive, as always, had been filled with a smothering silence. Dean longed for this father to talk to him, longed to be able to talk to his father. Dean didn't care about what, he just wanted to talk about something, anything. His father hardly spoke to him any more just barked orders at him and always ignored him completely when he was driving. To John Winchester he was just a soldier who should obey orders and be punished when he disobeyed, messed up or just when John Winchester felt like it.

Dean peered out of the window of the Impala as his father drove up the long winding drive towards the house in the distance. Bathed in the watery November sun, the large white mansion was nestled between two clumps of oak trees. Dean idly counted over thirty windows that in the summer would, he imagined, be surrounded by shiny green ivy but were now surrounded by twisted and gnarled looking branches which snaked up and down the walls of the house. White stone pillars rose upwards on either side of steps that, in turn, led up to an ornately coloured large glass door. Directly in front of the house was a large fountain with stone dragons spitting water instead of fire. Lawns and neatly tended flower gardens were laid out in front of the house.

"Leave the talking to me," John grunted as the Impala skidded to a halt at the bottom of the steps. "This job is gonna pay well.... so just keep your damn mouth shut," he snapped as he got out of the car slamming the door.

Dean stared at his father as John moved around the Impala to the trunk. They were going to get well paid for this job and had also been invited to stay at the house for as long as their "hunt" lasted. Dean sighed to himself knowing that his father meant to take as much money as he could from their client without doing any work and probably not ridding them of their spirit or ghost.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by his father shouting at him. "Get your lazy ass out here," John shouted.

Dean sighed again as he slid out of the car moving to help his father with their bags and equipment. John shoved one of the bags at him and Dean hissed silently in pain as the edge of the bag caught a healing bruise on his stomach. John ignored the hiss and glared at Dean angrily. Dean turned away from his father idly wondering what he had done to deserve his life. The mansion door opening disturbed his moody thoughts and he looked up.

Two women came down the steps to meet them, one leaning heavily on a walking stick. "Good morning," the younger woman said in a crisp accent that Dean couldn't quite place. "And welcome to Devon Park House. I'm Samantha Anderson. And this," she indicated the older woman. "Is my mother Beatrice Connors."

Dean watched as his father's angry glare dissolved into one of his most charming smiles. "John Winchester," John stuck his hand out smiling warmly at Samantha. "And this is Dean," he waved a hand absently towards Dean. "We're so glad to be here.... and I'm sure we can do something about your little problem."

"Pleased to meet you both," Samantha smiled. She nodded towards Dean.

"Mrs Connors," John stuck his hand out towards the older woman. He gave her another one of his winning smiles.

Beatrice narrowed her eyes at him for a moment. Then completely ignoring John and his offered hand she pushed past him and limped towards Dean leaning heavily on her walking stick. Beatrice reached out to touch him. Dean flinched and stepped back out of reach. Nobody touched him. Ever. Beatrice ignored the flinch and peered up at Dean studying him with bright blue eyes. "You're him," she said firmly. She continued to stare up at him and Dean shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "He needs you," Beatrice continued. "You have to save him."

Dean frowned. "I'm sorry.... I ... I don't understand," he mumbled as he shot a nervous glance towards his father. John Winchester was glaring angrily at his son. Dean swallowed down the fear hoping that his father would just forget the last five minutes but he knew that it was a vain hope and he couldn't help shivering slightly.

Samantha stepped forwards. "Mother," she chastised taking the older woman's arm. "Stop being silly." Samantha shot Dean an apologetic look.

Dean gave a small shrug smiling at the woman. "It's OK," he murmured.

"But it's him," Beatrice persisted as her daughter started to steer her towards the steps leading up to the house. She looked over her shoulder at Dean. "He's waiting for you."

Samantha ignored her mother's ramblings looking towards John who's angry glare had melted into another charming smile. "Come in both of you. I've got coffee and sandwiches in the living room for you," she waved them towards the steps.

John moved close to his son as they started to follow the two women into the house. "Just what was that all about," he hissed.

"I don't know," Dean answered truthfully.

John scowled at Dean. "You'd better not mess this gig up," he threatened pushing Dean slightly. "Got it?"

Dean stumbled but managed to stay on his feet. He chose to remain silent and just nodded instead.

 

**Later that night.......**

 

Dean was restless. He couldn't sleep so he had taken to silently wandering the dark hallways of the large house. His home-made EMF meter was clutched in his hand and it remained oddly silent. The old house seemed to creak and moan as he made his way along the hallway and Dean idly wondered what secrets the house hid.

He thought back to the afternoon when Samantha Anderson had spent half an hour explaining the problem. For the past several months they had been plagued with unexplained occurrences and the housekeeper had reported seeing a woman roaming the hallways. This fact had been confirmed by the Head Gardener who had seen the same woman in the grounds of the house. Small fires had mysteriously been started in various places around the grounds and several non-serious accidents had befallen members of the staff. Some china had been smashed and one of the rooms on the ground floor had been flooded.

Dean had sat quietly listening to her explanation and watching his father as he expertly "played" to the two women. Samantha seemed to lap it all up smiling and laughing at John's jokes and blatant flirting. But the older woman was a different matter. Beatrice seemed to be unimpressed with John and had spent the whole time staring at him. It made Dean feel uncomfortable and he couldn't look at the woman preferring to study the floor or the seam of his jeans.

John had promised to help, had taken some money, then had immediately left on another hunt two counties away leaving instructions for Dean to research the house and its history and come up with a plan before his return in four days time.

Dean stopped and cocked his head to one side listening. He shook his head dismissing the sound. It was just another floorboard creaking. Dean felt a sense of relief that his father had gone for four days and was determined to help the two women in any way he could even though he thought that the older woman was a little bit creepy. Beatrice's earlier words echoed in his mind tormenting him and making him feel restless and jumpy. Hence the fact Dean was roaming the hallways looking and searching. For what, he didn't exactly know.

A light in front of him attracted his attention and he stood still. There didn't appear to be any lights on but he could definitely see a light. Dean peered into the gloom checking left and right. He was still alone. Dean looked in front of him again. The light seemed to be surrounding a photograph frame on the wall. Taking a deep breath Dean edged forwards cautiously. He glanced down at the EMF meter clutched in his hand. It was silent. Looking up again Dean crept towards the light.

Dean looked over his shoulder again before peering up at the photograph. A young man stared back at him. He had long dark floppy hair which fell over his forehead and eyes. His eyes were gentle and kind and he was smiling at whoever was taking the photograph. It was a genuine smile that seemed to light up his whole face making his eyes sparkle.

Dean couldn't help himself he reached up a hand to touch the photograph. Something deep inside him stirred and he had the weirdest sensation that he somehow knew the young man smiling down at him. Dean chastised himself for being stupid but his fingers hovered over the face in the photograph wanting and needing the touch.

"His name is Sam Kendall," a voice behind him said and Dean snatched his hand away as if he had been burned. He slammed himself backwards into the wall all his hunter instincts on high alert. Dean groaned as he jarred his bruised body. He could hear his heart pounding loudly in his ears and he licked at his suddenly dry lips. He peered into the dimness as he moved his hand to touch the weapon tucked into the back of his jeans.

Beatrice Connors gave a small chuckle. "Skittish aren't you?" she chuckled again as she moved closer to him. Dean couldn't help flinching as she stepped into his personal space. "Oh don't worry young man," she said with a soft smile. "I won't touch you," she stepped to the side and gazed up at the photograph.

Dean frowned at her perceptiveness as he fought to calm his breathing. He had been so engrossed in the photograph of the young man that he hadn't heard Beatrice come up behind him. "Do you always do that?" he snapped irritated more at himself than her.

Beatrice turned sideways and grinned at him ignoring the question. She waved her hand at the photograph "Beautiful. Isn't he?" she said.

Dean shrugged non-committally and looked up at the photograph again. There was something about the young man that intrigued Dean. He shook off the feeling. "Who is he?" he asked curious despite himself.

"My baby brother," Beatrice answered sadly.

Dean didn't miss the sadness in the woman's voice or the look of unhappiness that crossed her face. "Where is he now?" Dean asked.

"Dead," Beatrice's voice cracked. "Died back in 1948...... in a fire. They never found.... found his body."

"He could be your restless spirit," Dean said. "The one who's causing you all the trouble."

Beatrice smiled as she touched the photograph. "Oh no," she answered. "Sam was gentle. Kind. He'd never haunt or hurt anyone."

"May be," Dean said unconvinced. He glanced up at the photograph again and for some reason he couldn't explain he knew that Beatrice was probably right. This young man wasn't their angry spirit.

"It's not Sam... I'm sure," Beatrice turned away from Dean moving slowly back along the hallway. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder and Dean could just about make out the tears that were in her eyes. "You could stop him dying......could save him. I think it's your destiny."

Dean stared at the women open mouthed as she limped back along the hallway. He frowned to himself as he looked back up at the photograph again.

 

**The next morning..............**

 

Dean was glad to escape the confines of the house. He needed to be alone with his thoughts. Beatrice and her words still unsettled him and he had found himself drawn to the young man's photograph several times during the night as well as twice already that morning. And it was starting to freak him out. And Dean desperately needed to get himself under control before his father returned.

He shivered at the thought of his father returning. He forced the negative thoughts out of his head trying to concentrate on his task. The house itself seemed to be strangely free of supernatural activity something that confused Dean as the housekeeper had maintained that she had seen the woman several times in the upstairs hallway. So with his EMF meter stuffed in his pocket Dean was on his way to investigate the site of each small fire. The Head Gardener had made a list for him with a rough sketch of the grounds.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets as he wandered through the old fashioned kitchen garden with its large array of colourful and delicately scented herbs. Dean quickly made his way through the walled kitchen garden towards the open grounds of Devon Park House. Dean loved this time of day, always had for some reason and guessed it had something to do with the quiet. It was early morning and the birds were singing seemingly ignoring the November chill in the air.

Shivering slightly Dean made his way slowly through the formal gardens with their box hedges, square-shaped flowerbeds and straight paths. He took time to admire the geometrical shapes that the gardeners had created with shrubs, square shaped fountains and the small compact hedges. He ambled across a gravel path, and then across a large lawned area with larger shrub beds and an impressive array of oak, ash and birch trees. He stopped at a large ornamental pond and stream to admire the orange-coloured and white-silver carp. The pond and stream appeared to split the grounds into two parts and Dean cautiously trod on each of the flat stepping-stones as he headed towards another walled garden. This garden was softer having none of the sharp geometric shapes of the formal gardens. Dean knew he had found the rose garden, the site of the first fire. Dean gazed around him taking everything in. There was a small lawn surrounded by neat borders filled with rose bushes. A fountain with an array of stone angels completely dominated the middle of the garden. Climbing roses had been trained up the two longer walls and at either end of the garden instead of a door, archways had been fashioned and roses trained around them. It was beautiful even in November. The silence in this part of the garden seemed deafening even though Dean could hear the faint roar of the sea crashing onto the shore. The housekeeper had told him that beyond the gardens, there were steps and a slope down to a privately owned beach. Dean couldn't help himself. He closed his eyes listening to the sounds of the waves, their constant rumble soothing and calming him. Dean opened his eyes and looked around him again drawing in a breath imagining that he could smell the delicate perfume of every rose in the garden and tried to imagine how the garden would look in full bloom. He couldn't help feeling disappointed that it was November. None of the roses were in bloom, instead they had been neatly pruned in preparation for the coming summer.

He let his eyes wander along the walls of the garden. At one corner he could see the brickwork had been blackened and guessed that this was the site of the first fire on his list. Dean moved over to the wall. He leaned forward and rubbed his fingers over the charred bricks. His finger tips quickly became blackened and he swore he could smell the faint trace of sulphur but it quickly disappeared. Dean traced his hand along the wall following the burn marks towards the archway at one end of the garden.

Dean shivered as he neared the archway and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. His hunter instincts kicked in and he looked around not able to see any danger. Dean decided to visit the site of second fire, the ruins of some greenhouses that were on the other side of the rose garden. He headed towards the archway again. Dean shook himself as an odd sensation rose up overwhelming him and making him feel sick. The sea mist seemed to be rolling in quickly and from out of no-where shrouding the archway and garden in a delicate veil of mist. A sudden panic clutched at him and Dean wanted to get away but he couldn't seem to move. Dean bit at his lip and forced his feet and legs to move. As he passed through the archway Dean suddenly felt dizzy and he put a hand on the cold bricks for balance afraid that his legs would give way. His legs felt like jelly and the garden seemed to fade into a misty light. Dean swore that he could hear voices through the fog that seemed to be engulfing his brain and he reached out towards them. Then there was nothing and Dean felt himself falling down into a dark abyss.

Dean's head hurt. He risked opening his eyes one at a time. The sun was bright and it blinded him for a moment. Shading his eyes with an arm he squinted up at the clear blue summer sky. Shaking his head he slowly sat up. He could still hear the crashing of the waves against the shore but there were sounds he didn't recognise and couldn't quite place. Dean shook his head again trying to clear the fog from his brain. Dean glanced over his shoulder towards the archway and saw the rose garden. He had to look again. The rose garden was in full bloom. Dean frowned puzzled. He blinked his eyes several times before staring towards the arch again. Nothing had changed. "What happened to November?" he thought to himself as he shrugged off his leather jacket suddenly hot. Despite the bruising he always tried to keep covered Dean pushed the sleeves of his shirt up his arms.

"Hello," a voice said from behind him. Dean turned and his mouth dropped open in shock. He was sitting three feet away from the young man in the portrait - Sam Kendall.

 

**A Meeting of Souls**

 

They stared silently at each other for what seemed like an age.......

Dean continued to stare up at the young man from the photograph. Words failed him and Dean thought that the picture didn't do him justice. He was the most beautiful man Dean had ever laid eyes on. Casually dressed in jeans and a shirt he was tall, at least two inches taller than Dean himself . The young man was lean and skinny with incredibly long legs that, from Dean's position on the ground, seemed to go on forever. His features were delicate and sculptured but there was an underlying strength and stubbornness in the hazel eyes peering down at him.

Sam couldn't take his eyes off the man sitting on the ground staring up at him with untrusting pale green eyes. This was the man of his dreams. The man with the expressive green eyes and the easy smile that had haunted his sleep every night for over two months, ever since his mother had died. The man that came to him during the day in his visions. Visions he didn't understand and had no control over and made his head pound with pain. Visions that were blurry but he was sure that the young man was being beaten by another man who's face he could never see. His ears and head always rung with the cries and whimpers from the young man and the angry shouting from the other man for hours after his vision. "You're him," Sam managed to stutter.

Dean rolled his eyes at the familiar words. "So I've been told," he retorted. "Don't tell me," he quipped. "You've been waiting for me."

Sam snapped out of his trance giving Dean a small smile mixed with a puzzled frown. "What," he asked with another frown.

"Never mind," Dean waved his hand dismissively at the younger man.

"Are you hurt?" Sam asked leaning down towards Dean. He could see the bruises on the man's wrists and forearms. He also had a black eye and a healing bruise on one cheek. Sam idly wondered if the man's shirt hid any more evidence of abuse. He knew that the injuries weren't the result of an accident but had been caused by beatings and cruelty. He had seen them, witnessed them.

Dean scrambled backwards away from the young man trying to touch him. He looked up into the kind hazel eyes. They were filled with warmth and compassion and something else that Dean couldn't quite make out but he thought it might be a mixture of confusion and understanding. "No," he managed to choke out cursing himself for being so afraid of people touching him. He always expected their touch to hurt him, just like this father.

"Oh," Sam stepped back not really surprised at the reaction. He could see fear flicker across the man's face for a moment before it was quickly replaced by a neutral and bland expression. "I thought with.... you know," he pointed at Dean's bruised arms and wrists. "That you were hurt and needed some help."

"I'm fine," Dean struggled to his feet pushing his sleeves down over the bruised skin. "Where am I?" he looked around him as he changed the subject quickly not wanting to dwell on his bruises or remember the beating his father had given him for not cleaning the weapons to his satisfaction.

Sam pulled a face. "Are you sure you're not hurt?" he repeated stepping closer again reaching a hand outwards. He didn't know why but he desperately wanted to help and for some reason he couldn't explain he wanted to touch the man to see if he was real or just a dream.

Dean flinched at the movement and turned on the younger man his green eyes blazing with fury. "I said I'm fine," he snapped unreasonably. "Dude. Give a guy some space," he said putting his hands up defensively.

"Sure," Sam stepped back putting his hands up in a surrendering motion. "So we've established that you're fine despite the fact that you look like you took on a truck.... and lost," he cocked his head to one side. "Still wanna know where you are?" he asked with a small smile.

Dean glared at Sam. "Trust me to find a smart ass," he thought to himself. He bit at his lip choosing to remain silent. He nodded his head.

"You're in the grounds of my home.... Devon Park House," Sam replied. "And my name is Sam Kendall."

"What's the date," Dean asked knowing that the question sounded strange even to his ears. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had somehow entered the twilight zone. But he had a horrible feeling that he already knew the answer to his question.

"The date?" Sam pulled a face but decided to play along. "It's the 14th June 1948. Does that help you Dean?"

"How did you know my name?" Dean snapped. He felt his body tense and he could feel his hunter's instincts automatically kicking in. He clenched his hands into fists. "I never told you my name."

"I.... I don't know," Sam seemed genuinely confused and flustered. "I just do." Sam took a nervous step backwards not knowing why he had said the name - it had just popped into his head.

Dean suddenly felt sorry for the younger man. He forced himself to relax and gave Sam a small smile. "It's OK," he said kindly. "Perhaps I look like a Dean or something," he offered with a reassuring smile.

"May be," Sam bit at his lips nervously.

Another silence descended and they stared at each other again for a moment. They stared not flinching from the other's gaze as though they were deciding whether to trust one another or not. They were both searching the other's face for something but both young men weren't really sure what they were looking for. Dean eventually broke the stare. He shifted slightly and kicked at the ground with his boot. "Perhaps you could show me around your... your home," Dean suggested waving his hand in the air absently.

"Really?" Sam gave him a boyish smile. "I'd like that."

"Yeah," Dean returned the smile. He could feel himself relaxing in Sam's presence and he didn't understand or trust the feeling. It was totally alien to him. He never trusted anyone and it confused him. But he trusted Sam. He shook of the confusing thoughts deciding to concentrate on his hunt instead. Perhaps he could find some answers in the past to the problems in the future. "Start there," he waved his hand at the rose garden.

Sam beamed warmly at Dean. "It was my mother's favourite part of the grounds. She designed the garden.... and taught me all about the roses..... and other stuff," he beamed again.

 

 **The Next Day -** **1948**

Sam was happy. He hadn't felt this happy for a long time, ever since his beloved mother had died two months previously. Sam missed her so much and his whole body ached with loneliness and sadness every time he thought about her. She had been everything to him, his whole world and tears still threatened when he remembered her. Every day since the day she had died Sam had felt the ache of loss inside him growing bigger and bigger. He longed to touch and talk to her again and his heart ached knowing that he would never ever see her again, never see her lovely smile, hear her voice or feel her warm skin when she touched him. His grief was threatening to overwhelm him and he felt lost and lonely. Sam only felt close to her when he was in the rose garden. Sam swore that he could feel her presence all around him and spent most of his days there sitting cross-legged reading his beloved books or just dreaming of happier times when they worked in the garden or the greenhouses together.

Sam also knew that his days in the garden were numbered. At the end of the summer his father expected him to join the family business and Sam was dreading it. He didn't want to be his father. He wanted to be himself and go to college to study English Literature. Even though he would be older than most of the students, Sam had even gotten himself a place at a reputable University. Sam wanted to be a writer, dreamed of writing books that would stand the test of time. He wanted to write books that generations after him would read and enjoy. Sam had been working up the courage to tell his father that he wouldn't be joining him but just hadn't found the right moment yet.

It wasn't that he didn't love his father. Sam did but he and his father didn't get on very well and spent days, sometimes weeks, not speaking to each other due to some argument or disagreement. They weren't speaking at the moment. Sam couldn't forgive him for what he had done just yet. He knew he would in the end but at the moment the pain was too raw. They had screamed at each other both full of hurt and grief over losing the same woman. His father had left and was staying at their house in the city near his offices. His older brother, David, had always acted as a mediator but he was dead too, killed when the Arizona was sunk at Pearl Harbour by the Japanese. And then there was Beatrice, his elder sister. Sam loved her but she had never been the mediator type and at the moment she always seemed to be too busy to spend time with her little brother. She was in love with their neighbour Jim Connors and Sam loved to tease her about marriage and babies. He grinned at the thought.

Sam had lost so much over the past few years and he was determined to live his life to the full but sometimes the sadness and misery overtook him. But today was different. Sam felt happy and he smiled to himself. With two of his precious books stuffed under his arms and a bag full of food that cook had given him, Sam raced across the formal lawns towards the rose garden. He waved his free hand at the gardeners who were busily working on the shrub beds. He grinned to himself as he took the stepping stones across the small stream two at a time in his eagerness to meet Dean.

Sam's heart skipped a beat at the thought of the man who he had only met yesterday but felt like he had known all his life. Sam couldn't help himself. He was drawn towards him like a moth lured to the flames. Dean intrigued him and he wanted to know more about him. He desperately wanted to know why Dean had been haunting his dreams for months and why Dean came to him in his visions.

Dean was mysterious and secretive but his pale green eyes seem to be haunted with a pain that Sam didn't really understand. He had seen the beatings in his visions but he couldn't understand why Dean let the other man assault him over and over. Dean didn't like to be touched and seeing the bruising on his arms and face Sam could appreciate his reluctance. And while Sam had babbled on about his family he knew nothing of Dean's family or even where he came from. But Sam didn't care. He liked Dean. Felt less lonely. And he had a sneaking suspicion that Dean liked him. Had caught a glimpse of it in the pale green eyes.

They had only known each other for a day but Sam felt like he had known Dean forever. It was like they were two lost souls who had been searching for the other part of themselves and had at last found each other. They were two halves of a whole and had immediately connected feeling safe and at ease in each other's company. Sam didn't know why but he was determined to find out. He was going to find answers to all his questions.

Panting hard Sam arrived in the rose garden. He looked around disappointed that Dean wasn't there. Sam slumped down on the bench laying his books and bag at his side. Leaning backwards he looked up into the blue sky hoping with all his heart that Dean would come to visit him. He had promised.

 

**The Next Day - 2007**

Dean ran across the lawn. He was late. Samantha Anderson had kept him talking, asking how his investigations were going, for over half an hour. Dean had been impatient to get away and had given her a quick run down of what he had found, which didn't amount to much. She seemed disappointed and had wanted to discuss what he was going to do next. But Dean had just excused himself and hoped that he hadn't been too rude. He just wanted to see Sam again. He'd promised and it was promise he was determined to keep. Dean had so many questions but they were questions he didn't really want an answer to.

He tried not to feel excitement but he couldn't help the feeling bubbling up inside him. Dean was used to being hurt, used to being disappointed in people. Every letdown added another layer to his already battle hardened armour. He had given up trying to care for people years ago having had it proven to him time and time again that no-one cared about him that he was useless and not worth the effort. But today Dean allowed himself a small piece of happiness, a small slice of hope. Hope that Sam would be different.

Dean didn't understand what was happening. He just knew that on the other side of the rose arch was someone he liked very much. Someone who treated him kindly and didn't speak to him as though he was stupid. It was alien to Dean but he had decided he could get used to it. He never trusted anyone, not even his father, but he trusted a complete stranger, felt at ease with him and felt like they somehow belonged together. Dean had lain awake last night trying to work it all out in his head but had just given himself a headache. He had gone to sleep with the image of Sam's face in his mind.

Dean neared the arch. His heart was thudding in his chest and his mouth was suddenly dry. He could hear his heart beat pounding loudly in his ears and he licked at his parched lips. "Just walk through the damn arch," Dean chastised himself as he stopped by the fountain staring at the archway.

It all seemed so surreal to him. He just walked through the archway and November 2007 somehow turned into June 1948. Dean had watched people, from both times, pass through the archway and they just appeared on the other side. Dean didn't understand it all and deep down didn't want to question it. It felt right somehow.

Dean frowned knowing that he was meeting Sam days before he had died in the fire. Yesterday was the 14th June, three days before his death. He shook his head trying to dismiss the nagging images and Beatrice's words. That morning Dean had decided to avoid the garden, had told himself that he was being stupid. But he had found himself running across the lawns towards Sam, and may be like Beatrice had told him, his destiny. He knew he only had three days. But three days of kindness from another person was three days more than he had ever had in his whole life.

Dean took a deep breath and forced his feet forward. He braced one hand against the coolness of the bricks and watched as the sea mist crept towards him wrapping him in its moist cool veil. Dean closed his eyes and let a feeling of calm wash over him for the first time in his life. This time he didn't feel dizzy and almost immediately he could feel the sun's warmth on his face.

Dean looked around. He was back in 1948 and couldn't help grinning to himself. Moving quickly towards the rose garden he was disappointed to find that Sam was no-where to be seen. Dean frowned as he wandered around the small garden. There was something about it that nagged at the back of his mind but Dean couldn't put his finger on it. He dismissed the thoughts before they irritated him too much.

Dean thoughts drifted back to the afternoon before. He had enjoyed himself for the first time in as long as he could remember. Sam was kind and gentle and his enthusiasm for showing him the grounds had rubbed off on him and Dean had found himself relaxing in the younger man's presence and had even found himself smiling. The grounds hadn't changed much in over 50 years. The traditional layout was exactly the same and Dean had idly wondered if the carp were the same ones that he had admired in 2007. The greenhouses had never been rebuilt and lay in ruins in 2007. But in 1948, they were large and impressive and housed a mind-boggling array of flowers, tropical plants and roses. Once the tour of the grounds was over they had sat cross-legged together in the rose garden and talked. Well Sam had talked and Dean had sat and listened. Dean had been reluctant to leave and Sam seemed to want him to stay but knew he would be missed.

After watching Sam head back towards the house Dean had nervously approached the archway and after counting to ten had just walked through finding himself back in November 2007.

When he had got back to his room Dean had fired up his battered laptop and researched Sam Kendall and his family adding to the things that Sam had told him during the afternoon. Details were sketchy but he had found out that Sam had been the youngest son of Francis and Emily Kendall. His father was a multi-millionaire who had made his fortune during the Second World War. He had an older sister Beatrice and an older brother David. David Kendall had been killed at Pearl Harbour when the Arizona had been sunk by the Japanese. Dean had even found his name on the memorial. Sam had told him that his mother had died from pneumonia that April. Sam, himself, had been killed in a mysterious fire in the greenhouses on the 17th June 1948 but his body had never been found. Upon his father's death, Devon Park House had passed to his sister Beatrice and her husband Jim Connors.

Dean did another circuit of the rose garden stopping at the stone fountain in the middle. He ran his fingers through the water making small waves as he stared distractedly at the stone angels. Dean cocked his head to one side having the distinct feeling that the angels were staring at him and smiling. He shook his head at the thought cursing under his breath. He turned away and noticed that Sam had obviously been in the garden as books and a bag of food had been left on the wooden bench. Dean decided to go and find Sam happy that the younger man hadn't let him down. And if he was honest with himself he was anxious to see Sam again. Dean ambled out of the garden and headed past the greenhouses. He shivered knowing that this was where Sam died in three days time. Dean gazed up at the large wood and glass structures wishing that he could change things but he had watched enough science fiction movies and re-runs of Star Trek to know that it just wasn't possible to change what had already happened in the past.

Dean desperately wished there was someway to change things and he ached inside knowing that kind and gentle Sam would never become the man he was destined to be. Sam had told him that he wanted to be a writer and Dean felt sad that he would never live to write his first book. Never be the author he so desperately wanted to be. Dean thought that Sam deserved so much more than an early death. He deserved to be happy and live a long life. Dean didn't mean to be selfish but he wondered how he would feel about Sam dying, about letting him die. Dean shivered again and admitted to himself that it would hurt him but it would get pushed down deep inside him along with all his other stored up hurt and misery. Dean was used to it and tried to ignore the small voice in his head telling him that this time it was different. Something about Sam had touched him like nothing or no-one else ever had and that this time the pain might be too great to hide or ignore.

Dean shivered again chastising himself for his morbid thoughts and pushed them firmly out of his mind. With another muttered curse he turned his back on the greenhouses and headed towards the cliffs that led down to the private beach.

Dean looked up and saw Sam. The younger man was standing on the edge of the cliff looking downwards. "Hey Sam," he called as he jogged towards the young man. Sam didn't move or turn around just continued to stare downwards. Cold fear suddenly gripped Dean and he quickened his pace starting to run towards Sam. He was four feet away from Sam when the younger man turned towards him and stared right through him as if in a trance. Then Dean watched with horror as Sam turned back and stepped off the cliff disappearing over the edge.

"Sam," Dean screamed as he fell to his knees.

 

 

**"Love is the road to our destiny**

**Nothing can change what is meant to be"**

 

"Sam," Dean screamed as he fell to his knees. "No. No. No," he chanted like a mantra. "He doesn't die today. No. No. Please no," Dean repeated over and over in his head. His rational mind knew that he was going to lose Sam in two days time but he just wasn't ready to lose him now. Dean knew it didn't make any sense whatsoever but he didn't care. He wanted. He needed. Logic and common sense had gone out the window the day he had met Sam.

On his hands and knees Dean crawled to the edge of the cliff. Dread filled him as he peered over the top half expecting to see Sam lying broken on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. Relief replaced the dread flooding through his veins as he saw Sam hanging by one hand from a tree root sticking out of the cliff-side. "Help me," Sam whimpered.

"Sammy," Dean said as calmly as he could.

"I don't think I can hold on," Sam cried panicked.

"Yes you can.... don't freak out ... I'm gonna get you. OK?" Dean said as he lay down easing himself closer to the edge of the cliff. As Dean cautiously sidled forwards he could feel the soil at the edge of the cliff move. He lay completely still, frozen, as part of the edge of the cliff fell away showering Sam with dust, soil and stones.

Sam yelped as some of the stones hit his face and coughed as the dusty soil got up his nose. He looked back up at Dean. "This sure is some rescue," he quipped although his voice wavered slightly and Dean could hear the terror in Sam's tone. "Are you sure you know what you're doing... because from where I am down here...... looking up......and you're up there.... all safe and stuff.... and... and it's a long way down. And.... and you hate touching," Sam knew he was rambling and not making sense but he couldn't help himself. He was frightened.

"Sammy," Dean commanded. "Stop babbling."

"Did you just call me Sammy?" Sam asked with a scowl as he shook his head trying to rid his hair of the soil and stones. He tightened his grip on the tree root moving his fingers slowly upwards as he struggled to get a firmer grip. He risked swinging his body slightly as he desperately tried to grab hold of the root with his other hand.

Confident that no more of the cliff would fall away Dean wriggled into a more comfortable position. "Yeah," Dean replied with a small smile. "You look like a Sammy. I like it."

"Well I don't," Sam said softly as he looked up at Dean again.

Dean couldn't help a small chuckle escape. "Dude," he rolled his eyes. "Your ass is hanging from a cliff .... and you don't like your new name."

"No," Sam replied stubbornly. He knew he shouldn't but he looked down and immediately felt sick at the dizzying drop below him. Sam swallowed hard and looked back up towards Dean. "I can't hang on much longer," he croaked as he swung his body again trying without success to grab the branch again with his other hand. His hand, arm and shoulder were slowly going numb and he was terrified. "Dean," Sam said frightened as his hand slipped slightly.

Dean could hear the fear in Sam's voice and he eased himself even closer to the edge. He took a deep breath and moved forwards until he hung over the edge himself. Dean dug the toes of his boots firmly into the dirt to give himself some sort of anchor against falling himself.

"Sammy," Dean said. "Try and reach for my hand," he reached out towards Sam with his hand.

"I can't," Sam protested.

Dean bit at his lip. "Yes you can," he said firmly. "Trust me. I won't let you fall. I promise."

Sam stared up at Dean. He could see a grim determination in the pale eyes looking down at him and something else he couldn't identify. Sam took a deep breath and stretched up as far as he could reaching out towards Dean. His finger tips brushed Dean's hand. "I can't do it," he said defeated.

"Yes you can," Dean encouraged. He wriggled forwards a bit more in an effort to help Sam.

Sam reached up again and Dean reached down. Their fingers touched. Then Dean saw Sam's hand slipping on the root and the look of pure panic in the younger man's eyes. "No," he screamed as he made a frantic grab for Sam's hand. Somehow Dean managed to seize Sam's wrist gripping it tightly just as Sam's hand let go of the root. "I've got you," Dean soothed as he took the brunt of Sam's weight. Sam swung from side to side slightly and Dean could see the look of terror still present on Sam's face.

"Dean," Sam choked out.

"I got you," Dean gave the younger man a reassuring smile. "I'm not letting you go. OK?" Sam gave a small nod and went to look downwards. "No looking down," Dean barked. "Just look at me."

Sam looked up at Dean. He tried to smile but it came out as a grimace. "OK," his voice wavered slightly but he didn't look downwards. He wiggled his fingers until he felt his hand close around Dean's wrist. Sam nearly let go when he felt Dean wince in pain as his grip tightened around the bruises wrists.

"Don't you damn well let go," Dean threatened as he drew back slightly in order to get his balance. He dropped his other hand down offering it to Sam. Sam took a deep breath and shifted his body towards the cliff-side. He brought his other hand up reaching for Dean's hand. The sound of skin against skin seemed to echo around them and they both blew out a shaky breath.

Dean curled his hand around Sam's gripping it tightly. He started to wriggle backwards pulling Sam up towards him slowly. Sam tried to help by bracing his feet on the cliff-side trying to get foot holds as he was pulled upwards. Stones, dust and large chunks of the cliff face fell away as he struggled to get a foot-hold. Sam could hear the larger pieces of stone hit the rocks below but he resisted the temptation to look down. Instead he concentrated on Dean. Sam could hear Dean breathing heavily from the effort of pulling him upwards but not once did he loosen his grip of Sam's hands.

When he was sure it was safe Dean drew himself up into a sitting position and pulled with all his strength and determination. He grit his teeth against the strain of pulling Sam up the cliff-side. His bruised body ached with the effort and the wrist that Sam had hold off throbbed in pain but he was determined not to let go. He was going to save Sam. Dean gave one final heave and Sam's shaggy head appeared over the top of the cliff and Dean dragged him to safety. Once he was sure that Sam was safe Dean flopped backwards panting hard at his efforts. "Your ass is heavy," he quipped as he rubbed at his wrists.

Dean felt rather than saw Sam slump down next to him. He could hear the younger man drawing in long breaths. "You OK?" Dean rolled his head and squinted at Sam's profile.

"Yeah... my shoulder hurts a bit but it'll be fine," Sam finally answered. "Thanks.... for... well thanks," he rolled onto his side propping himself up on his elbow and looked down at Dean. "Are you OK? I didn't hurt you did I?" he asked worriedly noticing that Dean was rubbing at his wrists.

"No. I'm fine," Dean replied. "I've had worse," he found himself admitting before he could stop himself. Sam frowned and went to open his mouth. Dean put a hand up to stop him. He needed to change the subject quickly before Sam asked him questions that he didn't want to answer. Dean pulled himself up into a sitting position. "Are you sure you're OK?" he reached out his hand towards Sam but snatched it back afraid to touch. Afraid that Sam would slap his hand away.

Sam decided to ignore the movement. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks to you," he gave Dean a small smile.

"What the hell where you doing there anyway?" Dean asked. "You coulda been.... been killed," he shuddered as his mind filled with unwanted visions of Sam burning in the fire. Dean closed his eyes and blew out a long breath as an ache blossomed through his body. He had saved Sam today knowing that he died in a fire in two days time. Dean opened his eyes and gazed at Sam drinking in the sight of the younger man. The man that somehow had touched him deep inside.

Sam scowled before closing his eyes trying to think back to what had happened. His mind was totally blank and he fought to remember squeezing his eyes shut even tighter. He finally opened his eyes and turned his frustrated gaze towards Dean. "I don't remember...," he stuttered defeated. "I was in the garden waiting for you.... I was happy," he blushed slightly at the admission. "And.... and then the next thing I remember is you looking down at me."

Dean stared off into the distance for a moment. He had a weird feeling deep inside him that events in 1948 were somehow linked to what had been happening in 2007. He was missing something and it was beginning to irritate him. He wondered if Sam himself was the key to the whole mystery. Dean turned his attention back to Sam. "You don't remember anything else? Getting up? Going to the cliff? Anything?"

"It's a total blank," Sam shook his head. He frowned again as he pulled himself up and sat cross-legged in front of Dean. "I can't remember a thing. I'm sorry Dean," he said quietly.

"Don't worry about it," Dean waved his hand at Sam. We'll figure it out," he said trying to sound confident.

Sam nodded. He stared over Dean's head for a moment. "I thought... thought," he bit at his lip nervously.

"Thought what?" Dean encouraged.

Sam sighed. "You'll think I'm stupid.... but I swear I could hear my mother," he admitted. "She was calling to me."

"I don't think you're stupid," Dean re-assured.

"But my mother.... mother has been dead two months," Sam protested his voice cracking slightly at the thought of his mother. "How could I hear her? It's... it's not possible."

Dean heard the waver in Sam's voice at the mention of his mother. He understood the feeling of loss. Dean had been four when his own mother had died. His father had one photograph that Dean wasn't allowed to see or touch and he never talked about her ever. Even as a child the subject was forbidden and his childish curiosity about her had earned him several beatings from a drunken father. Dean had held onto to his childhood memories for as long as he could but she was a fading memory and sometimes he really had to concentrate hard to remember her voice, her touch and her smell. Dean turned his attention back to Sam and gave him a small smile. "Stranger things have happened," he said. "They happen all the time. Trust me."

"I do," Sam said simply.

"Do what?" Dean asked puzzled.

"Trust you," Sam replied.

"You don't know me," Dean defended. "How can you trust me?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know... but I do," he answered honestly. "I know we've only known each other for a day but I feel... feel like I've known you forever," he shrugged again as he cautiously lay a hand on Dean's knee. "And I think you feel the same." Dean jerked nervously at the touch but didn't move away. Instead he stared down at the hand laying on his knee. He could feel the warmth of the skin through his jeans. Dean looked up at Sam searching his face for any trace of a lie. But all Dean could see was honesty, trust and something he had never seen in anyone's eyes when they looked at him - love.

"Trust ..... trust you too," Dean forced the words out. He wiped his now clammy hand on his jeans and then lay his own hand over Sam's hand entwining their fingers together.

Sam shuffled forwards slightly and leaned towards Dean. "I won't hurt you," he whispered as he brushed his lips over Dean's kissing him softly. Sam could feel Dean's body trembling. Pulling back he brought his free hand up and gently traced his fingers down Dean's bruised cheek. "I promise."

Dean was afraid and he couldn't help trembling. He wanted to run. But he also wanted to stay. He grit his teeth willing himself to calm down, willing himself not to flinch against the touch as Sam softly stroked his face. Dean found himself clasping Sam's hand tighter as the younger man leaned forwards again. "I promise," Sam repeated in a whisper as he pressed his lips against Dean's. Dean closed his eyes and surrendered himself to Sam as the younger man claimed his mouth in another kiss.

Sam pulled back and encouraged Dean to his knees. Sam wrapped his arms loosely around Dean pulling him closer. He could feel Dean's heart thudding in his chest and knew that he was still afraid. "Feeling kinda left out," he nodded at Dean's arms hanging loosely at his sides. Sam was desperately trying to lighten the moment and make Dean feel at ease.

Dean bit at his lips anxiously. He took a deep breath and slowly brought his arms up and wrapped them around Sam. It felt good. It felt good to have a warm body in his arms. A body that welcomed his touch. A body that wanted to touch him. It felt good to touch. To feel. Growing more confident Dean pulled Sam towards him and this time it was he that claimed the younger man's lips. He pressed the tip of his tongue at Sam's lips demanding entry. Sam opened his mouth and they deepened the kiss exploring one another's mouth with their tongue.

 

**Half an hour later.......**

 

"Are you sure this is OK?" Dean asked nervously as Sam led him up the stairs. "What if someone sees us?"

"They won't," Sam said confidently tightening his grip of Dean's hand. It had taken him over half an hour of gentle and persistent persuasion to get Dean to come to the house and he wasn't letting him go now. "Mrs Grady our cook and housekeeper is the only one here.... and she won't disturb us. Beatrice has gone for a couple of days. Some event with Jim. Dad is...," he waved his free hand in the air distractedly. "Well Dad isn't here. The gardeners are outside.... it's just you and me. OK?" he said with a smile squeezing Dean's hand in reassurance.

"OK," Dean agreed. Dean hadn't really wanted to come into the house but Sam had been persistent and he had finally relented when Sam pleaded with him with soft hazel eyes that seemed to bore into his soul. He looked like a soulful puppy and Dean had caved at the look. With a grin Sam had immediately grabbed his hand leading him across the grounds towards the house. Dean kept looking over his shoulder nervously. He half expected freaky older Beatrice to leap out of the walls at him. But it felt good to be wanted. To have his hand held.

The house, like the grounds, hadn't changed much in over 50 years. Same design and layout, some of the same furniture and from what Dean could see the decoration hadn't changed much either. The only difference he could see was that the photograph of Sam was missing from the wall.

"This way," Sam led down Dean down the hallway. Opening a door to his left at the end of the hallway Sam pulled Dean into his bedroom.

"Wow," Dean looked around him. It was the biggest bedroom he had ever seen in his life. Comfortably furnished there was even a small sitting room area at one end with two comfortable looking chairs. An open door to the side of the sitting area led towards a private bathroom. The shelves in the room were filled with books and a small desk by the large top to bottom window was piled high with paper, more books and an old-fashioned typewriter. A large king-sized bed dominated the centre of the room. Dean wandered over to the window and looked out. The room looked out over the formal gardens and Dean could see the gardeners busily working on the shrubs and the box hedges.

"Nice view," he said.

"Yeah it is," Sam answered as he came up behind Dean and carefully wrapped his arms around him. He felt a shudder run through Dean's body as he rested his head on Dean's shoulder. Sam nuzzled gently at Dean's neck trying to calm the older man. Sam didn't know anything about Dean. He didn't even know where he came from or what he did for a living as he had never asked and Dean hadn't volunteered the information. All Sam knew was that he liked Dean very much and wanted to be with him. Sam kissed Dean's neck and got a soft moan as a reward.

"What are they doing?" Dean asked turning his head slightly.

"Replacing some of the box hedges that died last month," Sam answered turning Dean in his arms. Sam gave Dean a small smile. He could see that the wariness was gradually fading from Dean's expressive eyes. Sam leaned forward and claimed Dean's lips again in a gentle kiss. He didn't want to spook Dean happy that he had got the other man as far as his bedroom but Sam knew that one wrong move would probably have Dean running. Sam ran his hands up and down Dean's back softly as he kissed him.

Dean felt safe in Sam's arms. His heart was still thudding but he no longer felt like he wanted to run. Dean knew, deep inside him, that Sam wouldn't hurt him. Knew that Sam wanted him sexually. The thought crossed his mind briefly that Sam seemed very liberally minded for a young man of the 1940's but immediately forgot what he was thinking as Sam continued to claim his lips. Sam's hands on his back were calming his inborn terror at people touching him. It was time for Dean Winchester to trust. Dean let out a moan as he deepened the kiss bringing his own arms around Sam. Sam sighed pleased as he started to walk them both towards the bed. They collapsed on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs. They rolled until they lay facing each other. Without taking his eyes off Dean, Sam kicked the blankets down to the bottom of the bed manoeuvring them both until they were laying on the cool white sheets.

"Want you," Sam murmured as he reached out for Dean's shirt pushing it off his shoulders.

"No," Dean said suddenly panicked as he pulled away slightly. "I look horrible," he croaked. He could see, in his mind's eye, the bruising and scars on his skin and he couldn't help feeling the wave of shame that coursed through his body.

"Sshhhh," Sam rolled closer knowing instinctively what Dean was afraid of. "I think you're beautiful," he reassured softly caressing Dean's face. "Don't be scared."

Dean stared at Sam trying to gauge whether he was lying or not. Love was reflected in the kind hazel eyes and he felt himself relaxing under the tender gaze. "No-one... ever said I was..... was beautiful before," Dean stammered. He could feel his panic receding slightly at Sam's gentleness and he felt less afraid.

"Well they must have been blind," Sam gave a small smile. He pushed at Dean's shirt again, this time managing to wrestle it from the other man. He smiled to himself as Dean helped him. Sam blew lightly on each bit of skin he revealed making Dean shiver in anticipation and need not fear or terror. Feeling bold Dean brought his own hands up and started to undress Sam. They pushed, pulled and tugged at each other's clothes throwing them in an untidy heap on the floor. Within minutes they were completely naked laying face to face.

Dean tried to lay as relaxed as he possibly could but he felt exposed knowing that his body was covered with bruises and criss-crossed with scars. He couldn't look at Sam afraid of what he might see in his eyes.

"Don't be scared," Sam repeated as he made Dean look at him. He pulled Dean closer into his arms. Kissing Dean to distract him Sam ran his hands all over Dean's back. His finger tips traced along what were so obviously scars from a belt or a whip. Sam felt angry on Dean's behalf and wanted revenge on the person who had been so cruel as to beat Dean time and time again. He closed his eyes knowing that it was the man he could never see in his visions. Sam could feel Dean's body tense and he carefully brushed his fingers over the thin and thick scars whispering nothing words in Dean's ear until he felt the older man gradually relax in his arms.

Dean pulled back and gave Sam a small grateful smile as he ran his own hand down Sam's face. They stared at each other recognising the need reflected back from the other's eyes. Suddenly desperate to hold each other again they clutched at one another crashing their lips together with a desire and passion that neither could explain. Their tongues tangled together as they writhed against the other's nakedness. Scars and bruises were forgotten as necks and shoulders were licked, sucked and kissed as they explored the unfamiliar territory of the other's body.

With each kiss and caress Dean became more confident. Less aware of his bruised and abused body. Sam wanted him scars, bruises and everything. Dean's tongue traced a wet path up Sam's shoulder and neck. When he reached Sam's ear he nibbled at the lobe gently. Dean swiped his tongue up and down Sam's neck loving the fact that his actions made the younger moan and beg for more. At the same time his hands were busy on Sam's back tracing circles across the quickly dampening skin. Sam moaned arching into the touch.

They rubbed their bodies against each other luxuriating in the feel of dampened skin against dampened skin. Belly against belly. Chest against chest. Strong thighs against strong thighs. Hardness against hardness. They pressed together both desperate for the touch, both desperate to feel the other. They groaned at the feelings they were evoking in each other. Their desire and love seemed to bounce off the other as they fought to claim each other. Sam hesitantly moved his hand downwards and stroked Dean carefully. Encouraged by Dean's soft moans he fisted the hard cock and felt it swelling even more in his hand. He felt his own cock harden some more and he sighed as he massaged Dean's erection. Dean moaned in appreciation pressing his cock harder against Sam's hand wiggling his hips as he moved. He dropped his own hand between their bodies and ran his fingers up and down Sam's cock feeling it twitch and lengthen under his ministrations.

"You feel good," Sam whispered as he rubbed his thumb over the leaking head and up over the velvety skin of Dean's penis.

"You do too," Dean breathed as he increased the pressure on Sam's cock. They mutually stroked, massaged and rubbed at each as they claimed one another's lips taking it in turns to thrust their tongues in and out of the other's mouth. Abandoning each other's cocks, they wrapped arms around one another pressing closer and closer as the claimed the other. Holding each other tightly they rolled over and over tangling themselves in the now wrinkled sheets making full use of the size of the bed. They undulated, rolled and moved rhythmically as one intimately connecting as their hands roamed over sweat slicked skin. Hardened and leaking cocks were squeezed and caressed eliciting groans of desire from both men. Balls were massaged and rubbed between fingers and thumbs. Skin was licked, blown on and kissed. Nipples were squeezed and circled with eager tongues. Bellies were fondled and petted as they learned and instructed the other about their body and what it desired and enjoyed. Hands and tongues took on a life of their own as they investigated, probed, massaged and nuzzled every dip and curve of the other's body as they pressed themselves closer and closer. They continued to kiss enthusiastically whilst at the same time rubbing and grinding their bodies against one another.

Breathless they pulled back from their kisses. Both had swollen lips and flushed faces. Laying face to face they smiled at each other. "You OK?" Sam whispered as he traced a finger up and down Dean's flushed skin.

"Yeah," Dean answered honestly. He had never felt this way before. "You've made me feel..... feel," he couldn't think of the right words and he blushed at his ineptitude at not being able to get what he wanted to say out of his mouth. Dean looked down distracting himself by tracing his hand in small circle shapes on Sam's belly.

"It's OK. I know," Sam breathed. Dean smiled up at him gratefully as he pulled Sam towards him.

This time they slowed their love making taking time to explore, learn and memorise every details of each other's body. Drowning in the sensual feelings they were awakening, they kissed lazily touching and caressing as they slowly rocked their hips revelling in the heat and friction the sensations caused in their bodies. Gradually they began to speed up their rhythm grinding against one another thrusting harder and harder as they brought each other nearer and nearer towards the heights of passion and fulfilment.

Sam possessed Dean's lips again in a passion filled kiss. His tongue requested and was granted entry and he explored Dean's welcoming mouth with his tongue. Dean opened his mouth moaning as Sam licked and sucked at his tongue. At the same time he ran his hands up and down Sam's body kneading the firm muscles in his back. Dean ran his hands through Sam's hair tangling his fingers in the length. He then moved his hand back between their bodies stroking the silky skin as he moved downwards. Dean gently took Sam's erection in his hand and stroked lightly up and down the hardness. His finger tip explored the slit leaking with precum. Sam gasped in pleasure thrusting his tongue further into Dean's mouth with a loud moan.

Sam began to pump his cock into Dean's hand. Not be left out Sam moved his hand to Dean's cock stroking hard. In the heat of the moment and their eagerness their hands got in each other's way so they abandoned their stroking and instead gripped one another tightly rubbing at the other. No words were spoken as the two young mean shifted against each other setting a fast rhythm. Sam groaned with need as Dean nipped and sucked at his skin and he thrust his tongue in and out of Dean's mouth.

They could both feel their climax approaching and they desperately pounded against each other. Sam's muscles tensed and he felt himself spiralling towards his orgasm. Dean could feel his own climax approach and he arched his back pushing his hips at Sam. They cried out together, each chanting the other's name as they came hard. Sam felt his cock pulse and throb shooting his release between their sweat glistening bodies. Dean spurted his release at almost the same time as Sam. Their seed joined and mixed covering their bellies, thighs and hips. They continued to move against each other frantically and desperately trying to prolong the last moments of their sexual intimacy. Their lips crashed together, their hands gripped the other as they rolled bodies, arms and legs entwined savouring the erotic sensations coursing through their bodies and the final throes of their love making.

Finally gasping trying to catch their breath they rolled away from each other laying side by side on their backs staring up at the ceiling. Dean groped for Sam's hand and they lay clasping one another's hand as their breathing slowly returned to normal.

Sam grabbed his shirt from the floor and cleaned them up as best he could before pulling the blankets up over them drawing Dean towards him. They lay together silently luxuriating in the afterglow of their love making giving one another the occasional soft kiss.

 

Sam woke with a start finding the room bathed in a soft morning light. With a yawn he sat up in bed and frantically looked around the room. He was totally alone. Dean had gone. Sam leapt out of bed wrapping a sheet around his nakedness. He checked the bathroom and moved quickly to the window and looked out. Sam could see Dean running across the grounds heading towards the rose garden. "Dean," he shouted although he knew that the older man couldn't hear him.

Sam turned away from the window. A note in his typewriter caught his eye as he swung around in search of his scattered clothes. He peered down. "I love you" had been neatly typed in capital letters. He grabbed the note out of the typewriter and turned back to his search for his clothes.

Sam grabbed his clothes and started to dress as he slammed out of his room. Hopping down the hallway, he struggled to pull on his underwear and jeans hoping that he wouldn't meet their housekeeper in the hallway. Sam managed his boots as he bounced down the stairs. He burst out of the house battling with his shirt.

Sam raced across the grounds leaping the small box hedges. At the small stream he ignored the stepping stones and plunged into the water wading quickly across making the ornamental carp scatter in all directions. Sam needed to find Dean. Needed to talk to him. Just needed him. Sam headed towards the rose garden. He thought his lungs would burst and he opened his mouth trying to force more air into them as his feet pounded the ground.

Finally reaching the garden Sam desperately searched for Dean calling his name. He ran through the archway towards the greenhouses hoping that Dean was there. Then he ran towards the cliff searching and calling frantically for Dean. Sam ran back to the rose garden. Dean was no-where to be found and Sam felt the ache of loss rise up within him again. Tears stung at his eyes but he forced them back. "Dean," he shouted dropping to his knees. "Please come back. I love you."

 

 

**"Minutes and hours and years may go by**

**But my heart knows nothing of time**

**So don't cry just keep me right there**

**In your dreams**

**And hold on to these words of mine**

**Forever Love"**

 

It was a dreary dark November day. Dean stared out of the window of his bedroom. The grounds looked bleak and dismal in the grey winter light. No burst of summer colour. Just grey and gloomy. But Dean didn't really see. He just continued to stare not really seeing or concentrating on anything. He felt completely numb and a melancholy had settled over him that he couldn't seem to shake. His heart was heavy. His head and thoughts were filled with Sam and he just ached to touch him again. Dean clenched his fists forcing himself to resist the temptation of running back to 1948. Back to someone who gave a damn about him.

Dean didn't want to admit it but after only two days he had fallen in love. It was a strange feeling, one that he had never experienced before. Dean Winchester didn't love anyone not even himself. Dean Winchester wasn't loved by anyone. It was just a fact of his crappy life.

He could feel tears stinging at his eyes and he forced them down. He wouldn't cry he kept telling himself over and over. Dean sucked in a breath. His life was wretched. He was miserable, unhappy and he hated himself and his life. His father didn't love or care about him and beat him whenever he had the chance. And if Dean wasn't miserable enough his chance at love had been cruelly taken away from him. That usually happened when you fell in love with someone who lived in a completely different time period Dean thought angrily to himself. Dean couldn't stop the nagging thoughts that bombarded his mind. Sam was going to die. Die horribly in a fire tomorrow and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Dean Winchester couldn't change his own life so how could he change the past. A sob escaped from within him and Dean leant his face against the cool glass of the window letting a tear slide down his cheek as he thought about Sam. Gentle and kind Sam who had shown him love for the first time in his life. And he had just left him without a second glance and a note in an old-fashioned typewriter. Dean just wasn't brave enough. He couldn't bear the thought of being there so close but so far away. Dean knew he couldn't watch Sam die. Another tear slid unchecked down his face. Then another. It was official Dean Winchester hated himself. Dean Winchester deserved to be alone and miserable.

Dean pushed away from the window and started t pace the bedroom restlessly. He hugged an arm around his belly as he tried to stop the ache inside. He felt trapped, liked a caged animal, in a haunted house that taunted him with memories of Sam. Just down the end of the corridor was the room they had made love in. Sam's photograph was on the wall and Dean had noticed more smaller framed photographs in the large living room lined up along the ornamental mantelpiece. Dean wanted to run but he had no-where to run to and no-one to turn to. He had nothing. He was totally alone.

Finally in desperation Dean grabbed his jacket and escaped into the chill of the November afternoon. The sky was dusky and it was starting to drizzle but Dean didn't care he just walked, hands shoved in his pockets, lost in his thoughts trying to convince himself that he had done the right thing. He knew that he couldn't alter the past. Knew that Sam was destined to die in a fire. Knew that altering the past could irreversibly, and sometimes, disastrously, change the future. But telling himself over and over it was all for the best didn't help at all. Dean's eyes watered again as his mind filled with images of Sam. "Stop it," he chastised himself as he swiped at the tears. "It was never meant to be," he tried to convince himself but deep down he knew he was lying to himself. Dean wanted Sam. Dean loved Sam and it hurt more than anything he had ever experienced, hurt worse than all the beatings he had ever received from his father. The pain ran deep and Dean was afraid that he wouldn't be able to cope, that it would eventually overwhelm him completely. Dean knew that as long as he lived the memory of their short time together would never fade from his heart and soul.

Dean choked back a sob kicking distractedly at a stone watching as it rolled towards the long grass. Looking around he found himself standing across from a heavy iron gate that led to a small graveyard. Dean hesitated, took a step and then turned to leave. Almost immediately Dean changed his mind. He spun around and with a deep breath he pushed open the heavy gate and wandered amongst the graves. It was like any other graveyard he had ever been in, some of the graves were new but most were old darkened with age and green moss. Dean waded through the long uncut grass towards the back of the graveyard searching squinting down at each of the graves in turn. He was hoping, for some reason he couldn't explain, that there would be a grave despite the fact that there had been no body to bury. Shaded by a large oak tree Dean finally found what he was looking for. Kneeling down not caring about the damp grass he gently brushed away the green moss from the chiselled out words.

I

**In Loving Memory**

**of a**

**Beloved Son and Brother**

**Samuel Winchester Kendall**

**Born 2 nd May 1925**

**Died 17 th June 1948**

Dean ran a finger along each letter tracing out his name. Closing his eyes he imagined them making love. Imagined them laying together legs, bodies and arms entangled as they whispered nothing words to each other. Remembered as they had sat up in bed feeding each other food from the bag Sam had gotten from the housekeeper. Remembered as they had made love a second time. Remembered how Sam had taken him intimately filling him and wrapping his love all around him. Remembered how sticky and sated they had fallen asleep in one another's arms. "Sammy," Dean breathed as the wonderful memories bombarded his mind. Eyes still closed Dean traced each letter on the stone once again. It hit him suddenly and Dean snapped his eyes open and stared at the gravestone. He rocked back on his heels gazing at the words repeating them over and over in his head.

Dean leapt to his feet turning away from Sam's gravestone. Dean pushed and tugged at the long grass, ivy and weeds frantically searching for another grave that he sensed would be close by. After a few minutes Dean found what he was looking for. Two graves side by side. Dean rubbed at the moss on the face of each gravestone. One of the graves was Sam's father, the other his mother's. "Son of a bitch," Dean cried as he read the chiselled out letters. He blinked a couple of times to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

Dean turned and ran through the graveyard leaping the smaller gravestones heading back towards the house. The drizzle had turned to heavy rain and Dean was soaked within minutes. Head down, he raced towards the house his mind full of questions that he wanted answers to. And now.

Dean burst through the door to the house. "Mrs. Connors," he shouted as he shook the rain from his jacket. Dean ran from room to room searching and shouting her name. "Beatrice," he yelled as he took the stairs two at a time. "Where the hell are you?" he hurried along each small hallway on the first floor pushing the doors to each room open not caring if they hit the wall with a loud bang as he frantically searched for the older woman.

Dean came to a familiar hallway. He ran along sensing she would be there. In Sam's bedroom. His heart was thudding in his chest and his mouth was suddenly dry. "Beatrice," he shouted his voice wavering as he stood outside the door to Sam's bedroom. He reached his hand out towards the door handle and then snatched it back cursing his cowardice under his breath. "Sammy's not here," he repeated in his head over and over.

The door suddenly flew open revealing Beatrice. "Quit hollering," she glared at him. "I aint so good on my legs as I was... and it takes me a while to get going." Beatrice glared again.

"Sorry," Dean muttered flushing slightly.

"So where's the fire?" she asked beckoning him into the room.

Dean bit at his lips in an effort not to lash out at the woman at her chosen words knowing that she hadn't meant to be cruel. He forced his legs and feet to move into the room. Dean gasped as he looked around. The room hadn't been changed. The furniture, the decoration, even the shelves of books. It was exactly as he remembered it right down to the mess of papers and typewriter on the desk by the window. He ran his fingers along the surface of desk remembering the note he had typed before running away from Sam. Dean turned back to Beatrice who was regarding him curiously.

"You've been here before?" Beatrice narrowed her eyes at him. She asked even though she knew the answer to her question. It was written all over the young man's face. His expressive green eyes gave him away and she had no doubt in her mind that he had somehow managed to meet her brother. That her gentle and loving brother had somehow touched the wounded young man standing in front of her. She had been right all along. He was the one.

"No," Dean answered too quickly. He found himself blushing as the memories of being in the room with Sam assailed his mind.

Beatrice chuckled. "I didn't know you came into the house. But I do now," she smirked knowingly at Dean. "And I did see you. I knew it was you the first time we met," she turned away from Dean. "I saw you on the cliff path with Sam... I'd come back to get a ring I wanted to wear.... and I saw the two of you together."

Dean stared at the woman speechless. She had known all along that he had met Sam in 1948. She had seen him with Sam. Had probably seen them kissing. "I.... I....," Dean stammered lost for words.

"Oh don't worry young man," Beatrice waved her a hand at him. "I may be old but I'm not a prude. Not now and not then. Sam was happy in his last days....," her voice wavered slightly. "And I think I have you to thank for that."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean demanded suddenly angry.

"I think I did... more than once," Beatrice frowned. "When we first met. I knew it was you.... but you thought I was just some crazy old woman."

"No," Dean said frustrated. "Not that. That his name was Winchester," Dean said. "Like mine.

Beatrice pulled an incredulous face. "That's just a weird coincidence," she gave a small laugh.

"I don't think so," Dean persisted. "I found his mother's grave..... I thought you said your mother was called Emily."

"She was. Emily was mine and David's mother," Beatrice nodded as she perched on the edge of the bed. "But she wasn't Sam's mother..... I thought you knew that."

"How would I know that?" Dean snapped unreasonably. He was angry with himself for not doing the research properly. He had just assumed that Emily had been Sam's mother.

Beatrice raised her eyes at the tone. She shrugged. "Sam's mother was my father's second wife. Her name was....," she went to say.

"Mary Winchester," Dean interrupted. "Like my mother."

"Don't be silly boy," Beatrice chuckled. "How could you and Sam have the same mother. Sam was born in 1925," she looked him up and down. "And ... you're what ..... 26 .... 27 years old," Beatrice guessed. "Even an old woman like me can do the maths."

Dean ignored the question and glared at her. "But you believed I went back to 1948 and met your brother," Dean countered folding his arms across his chest. Beatrice pulled a face but remained silent. Dean knew deep within him that he was right. Mary Winchester was his mother which made Sam his younger brother. He just didn't how they could be his family. "How did your father meet her?" he asked determined to get to the bottom of the mystery.

Beatrice rolled her eyes in exasperation. "She's not your mother. It's not possible," she said firmly. "You've been watching too much science fiction on television." Beatrice huffed in annoyance. She was beginning to believe that she was going mad and it was all too complicated and confusing for her old brain to comprehend.

"Please," Dean begged resisting the temptation to grab hold of the older woman and shake the answers from her.

Beatrice sighed knowing that the young man wasn't going to give up. "She just appeared in the garden one day.... and my father felt sorry for her and took them in. A year later they were married."

"Took them in," Dean frowned. "What do you mean took them in?"

"Mary and her baby..... Sam was about six months old I think," Beatrice screwed up her eyes as she answered. "Such a lovely baby. Never cried... always smiling."

"So Francis Kendall isn't Sam's father?" Dean pressed. His heart was thudding in his chest. It all fitted in some weird sort of way. Mary was his mother. And Sam was his brother. And then it hit him. It took his breath away and for a moment Dean thought he was going to suffocate. He could feel the horror rising within him threatening to choke him. He had made love to his younger brother. He had let his younger brother take him intimately. They had enjoyed each other. They loved one another. Dean closed his eyes feeling sick inside as a wave of nausea and disgust washed over him threatening to overwhelm him. He wanted to escape but his feet were rooted to the floor. He swayed slightly and could feel himself trembling. Dean bit down hard on his tongue and clenched and unclenched his fists trying desperately to control his inner turmoil and emotions hoping that Beatrice didn't notice.

"No," Beatrice shook her head. "But he never knew... Mary didn't want him to know.... didn't want him searching for his biological father for some reason," she shrugged again. "And my father loved him like his own son..... so it didn't really matter.... and never came up." She stared up at the young man in front of her. He looked pale and she could see that he was trembling. Beatrice frowned. She liked him but he was so wounded and hurt and she knew if she reached out he would flinch away from her touch. She stared down at her walking stick distractedly trying to come up with a valid reason for his wild reasoning. Come up with a reason to calm the young man down. But her mind remained infuriatingly blank and she sighed cursing her old age. Beatrice looked up again to find he was gone. She struggled to her feet just as he burst into the room again. Tired and weary in her bones Beatrice flopped back down on the edge of the bed glad that she wouldn't have to chase all over the house looking for him. Dean thrust a photograph at Beatrice and stepped back watching the woman's reaction.

Beatrice stared down at the photograph. Her mouth dropped open in shock and she looked up at Dean and then back to the photograph. "Where did you get this?" Beatrice snapped. "There are no photographs of Mary in this house. My father destroyed them ..... burned them all. Every last one." She looked back to the photograph and lightly touched the smiling face with a withered finger. "Sam hated him for that... they argued and they .... they weren't speaking to each other when... when Sam died in the fire," she looked up at Dean again. "I don't think my father ever forgave himself for that." Beatrice narrowed her eyes at Dean. "But that doesn't tell me where you got this photograph young man?" she demanded.

"From my father's bag. That's my mother," Dean answered softly. "Mary Winchester. She died... died when I was four in a fire along with my baby brother Sam. Or... or I thought she did."

Beatrice looked from the photograph to Dean and back again. "That's impossible," she said offering him the photograph. "There has to be some other explanation," she shook her head. It's just.... just not possible," Beatrice repeated.

"May be," Dean shrugged as he accepted the photograph glancing down at the face of his mother smiling to himself. He stuffed the picture safely into his jacket pocket. Dean turned away and moved towards the window staring out over the grounds. "You said I was the one... that it was my destiny," he said softly. "What did you mean?" Dean turned back to Beatrice.

Beatrice could see the desperation and hope in his eyes and she knew that he wanted to believe, wanted to save Sam. She cursed herself silently for her foolishness sensing that the young man had been hurt enough in his life and that she had just added to it. She sighed again. "I just get confused... say things I don't mean," Beatrice said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Drives my Samantha nuts. I know you can't save... save him. I'm sorry I should have never said anything," she shook her head. "I'm just a stupid old woman."

Dean gave a defeated nod and turned back to the window. He stared out lost in his thoughts. It was all so confusing. Everything was spinning around in his head making him feel dizzy. He knew he should feel disgust at what he and Sam had done. But all he felt was an overwhelming love and an ache in his heart for a love he could never have back. He wanted and needed Sam.

Dean stared at the grounds as if he was seeing them for the first time. He stared at the maze of small and medium sized box hedges, the small stone-built walls, the shrubs, the small pathways that criss-crossed the gardens and the various ornamental figurines scattered around the exterior of the gardens. Dean squinted again looking harder as his mind spun with what he was seeing. Why hadn't he seen it before he asked himself again and again. Dean blinked a couple of time to make sure he wasn't making a mistake. "Son of a ......," he turned back to Beatrice. "Who designed the gardens?" he asked hurriedly.

"What?" Beatrice gave him a puzzled frown.

"Who designed the damn gardens?" Dean snapped angrily.

"Mary," Beatrice answered. "She loved the gardens..... David and I used to tease her ..... and she drove the gardeners crazy with where she wanted things to be placed. And she wouldn't let anyone move anything.... not one stone, shrub or hedge. Ever." She frowned still puzzled. "Why? What do you see?"

"A devil's trap," he murmured turning back and staring out of the window. There was nothing haphazard about the garden. It wasn't a perfect devil's trap as Dean could see that some of the angles were slightly off centre and there should be more sides but the garden had obviously been designed as carefully as possible for a specific purpose. His mother, Mary, had used the garden's design as a trap. It was all beginning to make a sort of sense to Dean.

"A what?" Beatrice asked idly wondering if the young man was going insane.

"It's a kind of demon prison," Dean explained hurriedly. "Mary designed a trap... that's why she wanted stuff in specific places. She trapped something in your gardens.... and I think I know why you've been haunted these last couple of months," he said moving across the room to the door ignoring the look on the older woman's face. Dean now knew what he had to do. He had to go back. He had to go to the past to fix the future.

Head down making a mental note of the equipment that he needed Dean hurried along the corridor and ran straight into his father. "Dad," he said.

"In here now," John snarled pointing towards his room.

"But Dad," Dean protested. "I know what's going on here."

"I don't give a damn what's going on here," John grabbed Dean and roughly shoved him into the bedroom. "And I said now," John slammed the door behind him. He glared angrily at Dean. "Now tell me what the hell you were doing in my room..... and my bag," he nodded his head towards the bed.

Dean took a deep breath cursing himself for his stupidity. He hadn't put the bag back leaving it opened on the bed and in his search for the photograph he had left it looking like it had been rifled through. "I....," he stuttered looking at the floor.

John narrowed his eyes at his son. "I said tell me what the hell you were doing in my stuff," he enunciated each word as he shoved Dean back towards the wall. Without warning John grabbed Dean by his bruised wrists. "What have I told you about going through my stuff?" Dean winced in pain and struggled in his father's tight grip. As he struggled the photograph of his mother fell out of his jacket onto the floor. John let Dean go and snatched up the photograph. He turned back to Dean and glared at his son as he placed it carefully onto the bedside table.

Dean shrank back against the wall. He could feel the fear rising up within him and he hated himself for it. "You little shit," John snarled as he raised a hand and slapped Dean hard across the face opening a healing cut above his eye. Blood started to run down his face as Dean's head bounced off the wall. Dean blinked as his vision went blurry for a moment. "I told you never to touch that photograph," John followed the first slap with a second. Furious John balled up his hand into a fist.

Dean could see what was coming and tried to dodge out of the way. But John grabbed his arm gripping tightly holding his son still as he quickly brought his other hand up before Dean could wriggle out of his hold. Dean cried out as his father's fist hit his face. "Don't," Dean managed to choke out tasting his own blood in his mouth.

"Don't," John mimicked cruelly. He knew the power he had over his son and could always see the fear in the pale eyes that looked so much like Mary's eyes. He knew it was wrong but his son's fear of him made him feel strong and powerful. He was a ruthless hunter who feared no man, human or supernatural, allowing his anger to drive and consume him. Dean reminded him of the life he had lost, the woman he had lost and his fury at the loss fuelled his hate and venom. Hate that he directed at his son. Mary's eyes looked at him every time Dean looked at him and it filled him with a rage he couldn't control and didn't understand. Deep down he felt disgusted with himself and a small voice taunted him telling him that it was wrong, that Mary would hate him for what he had become and what he put their son through every day of his life, but John ignored the voice choosing instead to wield his power over his son. "You pathetic piece... of shit," he slapped Dean hard again.

Losing his balance at the force of the blow Dean stumbled and fell to the floor. Knowing what would come next Dean started to desperately scrabble to his feet. "You're never to touch that photograph again," John kicked Dean hard in the side before his son could get fully to his feet. Dean cried out again dropping back to the floor hugging his side as the familiar agony blossomed throughout his body. "Did you hear me?" John kicked at Dean's legs.

Dean nodded slightly as he looked up at his father. John Winchester was laughing at him. "Now get up," John snarled. The harsh laugh spurred Dean on and with a groan of pain he dragged himself to his feet. He swayed slightly before drawing himself up to his full height. John went to slap Dean again. Dean dodged out of the way and without knowing what he was doing he jabbed a surprised looking John hard in the middle of his face.

Dean looked down at his hand in surprise and shock. He looked across at his father who was holding his now bloodied nose. Dean went to open his mouth to apologise, to plead for forgiveness but no words came out. He looked down at his hand again. Growling John advanced on Dean. Dean made a fist and hit his father hard in the face again. John stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. He looked up at his son surprised to see a look of hate in Dean's eyes where he had always seen fear. Dean was shaking with fear and uncontrolled rage. He could feel all the well-buried hurt and misery bubbling up within him. He'd had enough. All his life he had been his father's punch bag and enough was enough. He had been shown love and he wanted it, craved it. Dean was determined that his father was never going to hit him ever again. It ended today. Dean glared angrily noting that John was no longer laughing at him.

John scrambled to his feet and advanced on his son. He didn't like his son usurping his power. Using his superior weight he launched himself towards his son. Dean stepped backwards as John aimed a punch at him. It glanced off his shoulder and Dean yelped in pain as John's fist connected with an already healing bruise. John took advantage of Dean's pain and grabbed his arm twisting it ruthlessly. Pain lanced through Dean's shoulder and tears of pain sprang to his eyes. "You're pathetic," John hissed in his ear as he twisted the arm some more. Dean struggled against his father's hold kicking outwards. His foot connected with John's shin. John squealed in pain but managed to keep his balance and his hold of Dean. John raised his hand in the air at the same time Dean shoved at him hard. Not expecting the move John reeled backwards loosening his grip of Dean's arm. His father had taught him well, taught him never to miss an opportunity. With all his strength Dean shoved his father again. This time John lost his balance and collapsed to the floor. As he went down his head hit the edge of the bedside table. John Winchester groaned and lay still.

Breathing hard and hugging his aching body Dean moved forwards cautiously. He stared down at his father as he poked at John with the toe of his boot. The man who had made his whole life a misery lay silent and not moving. Blood was pooling under his head and Dean stepped back suddenly terrified.

"What's going on in here?" the door swung open and Beatrice stood in the doorway.

Dean didn't answer her or hear her call his name over and over as he pushed past the old woman and ran down the hallway. Panicked and terrified Dean ran down the stairs two at a time and out of the door. Dean tripped and stumbled as he sprinted through the grounds towards the rose garden. He was frightened. He had to get away. He had to run.

His breath was coming in harsh uneven pants and gasps. The sound of his ragged breathing echoed around him hammering loudly in his ears as he ran knowing that he was running towards Sam. He dragged himself through the cold water of the small stream ignoring the stepping stones. The November mist was heavy and damp and it was still raining but Dean didn't care. His eyes stung with unshed tears and his feet pounded the ground as he let his terror and misery overwhelm him. His panic drove him onwards made him run faster even though his legs felt like lead. Dean pushed onwards ignoring the heaviness in his limbs and the pain in his body. He burst into the rose garden and headed straight towards the archway not hesitating this time as he ran straight through it. Dean let out a strangled cry as he emerged on the other side to night-time but he knew he was in 1948. The night air was summer warm and he could smell the scent of the roses in the garden.

Turning around Dean ran into the garden. He looked around not sure what he was searching for knowing that Sam wouldn't be here. The moon was full and bright bathing the rose garden in an ethereal glow. The moonlight seemed to dance across the walls of the garden casting shadows and shimmering light at the same time. Exhaustion suddenly overtook him. His legs felt shaky and his body was vibrating with ragged emotions. He gasped desperately trying to force oxygen into his overworked lungs. Dean slumped down to the ground trying to calm his breathing. His mind screamed at him and he howled in pain and agony. He had killed his father in a rage. Dean closed his eyes against the vision of his father laying dead blood pooling under his head. The tears that had been threatening since he had escaped from the house spilled out running down his face unchecked. Dean drew his legs up wrapping his arms tightly around himself resting his head on his knees. "No. No. No," he murmured as he slowly rocked backwards and forwards lost in his suffering.

Dean started as a hand gently touched his knee. He forced himself to look up and came face to face with Sam. His lover. His brother. Dean wanted to reach out and hold Sam but he knew he couldn't. It was wrong. They were brothers. He swiped at his tears and stared at Sam in silence.

"Dean," Sam said gently. He had woken from a dream-filled sleep immediately sensing that Dean needed him and that he was hurting and frightened. He had dressed quickly and raced straight to the rose garden knowing that Dean would be there. "What are you doing here?" Sam could see that Dean was hurt. His face was bloody and tear streaked. Sam could also see evidence of new bruising forming on Dean's pale face. Dean stared up at him, eyes glassy and unfocussed, not really seeing. "It's OK," Sam soothed as he caressed a hand down Dean's face.

"Don't," Dean flinched trying to move away from Sam's touch. He thought he would feel revolted at Sam's touch but he felt no different from any other time that Sam had touched him. It was still a lover's touch.

Sam frowned slightly trying not to be hurt by the obvious flinch. "What's wrong Dean?" he asked gently.

Dean stared at Sam for a moment. He needed to touch Sam but he knew it was wrong but he just yearned to be held. Held by someone who cared about him. He wanted Sam. He loved Sam. "I .... I think I killed.... killed our father," Dean stammered as fresh tears ran down his tear streaked face. A sob escaped and he lay his head back on his knees hiding his face from Sam.

Sam frowned at the words but decided that Dean was probably in shock and confused. He cautiously moved closer to Dean and wrapped his arms and legs around the older man tightly. Dean struggled but Sam remained determined and he eventually gave up letting himself relax into the embrace finally feeling safe and secure. "Ssshhhh. "It's OK. I'm here," Sam whispered as he tightened his grip gently rocking them both back and forwards as he gently caressed his hand through Dean's short hair.

 

Dean rolled over and stretched his body ignoring the familiar ache of bruising. He yawned as he opened his eyes and peered around trying to work out where he was.

His memory was blurry and he shook his head trying to get rid of the cobwebs. Suddenly it all came back to him in a rush and Dean shot up in bed breathing hard and trying desperately not to panic. The terror vibrated through his body and he trembled as he remembered his father laying dead in this house but in 2007. His eyes darted around the room and he knew he was in Sam's bedroom. He was safe. Dean closed his eyes remembering that he had been frightened and hadn't known what to do but somehow he had found himself running towards the only person who would understand and care - Sam. And Sam had come to him. Had held him tightly wrapping his arms and legs around him as though he was trying to protect him from his inner terror.

Dean didn't remember much else. It was a blur in his mind. All he remembered was Sam whispering calming words to him. He had concentrated on the gentle voice pushing the fear, horror and disgust down deep inside him. Sam must have somehow gotten him to the house and looked after him tending to his cuts and bruises. "Sam," Dean called. "You there?" Silence.

Dean dragged himself out of bed. He looked down at himself noting the new blackened bruises on his right side and belly. He shivered as he remembered his father's brutality. With another shudder Dean pushed the thoughts down deep as he screwed up his eyes not even able to remember Sam stripping him of his clothes. He grabbed the sheet wrapping it around his nakedness. He looked in the bathroom and peeped out into the hallway. Sam was no-where to be found. Dean wandered across to the window glancing absently at the desk as he passed by. He spun around staring with horror at the calendar on the desk. "You stupid asshole," he chastised himself. "How could you damn well forget," Dean hurried around the room gathering up his clothes cursing himself for being so selfish and thoughtless. He knew where Sam was.

Five minutes later Dean was racing across the lawns towards the greenhouses. He didn't care about damaging the past, the present or the future. He didn't care whether they were brothers or lovers. All he cared about was saving Sam. Dean pushed all his nagging doubts to the back of his mind. Dean loved Sam and nothing else mattered to him. He was going to save Sam or die trying.

Dean could smell smoke. "Oh God I'm too late," he cried as he looked upwards. The blue summer sky glowed a reddish orange colour. "Please don't let me be too late," he prayed as he ran through the rose garden.

Even though Dean was expecting the fire he stood momentarily stunned watching as the flames licked ruthlessly at the wooden building. The glass windows burst outwards showering the grounds with thousands of shards of glass as the heat caressed them. Dean flinched at the sound. Crackling and spitting the fire burned and raged in its intensity engulfing the large greenhouses completely. Orange flames leapt into the sky and smoke spiraled upwards disappearing amongst the summer clouds.

Dean shook himself out of his stupor. "Sammy," he yelled again as he rushed without thought for himself towards the burning doorway. He could feel the heat as he neared the building. Crouching low Dean peered into the building desperately trying to see through the thick smoke. Taking a deep breath Dean rushed into the building ignoring the flames as they hissed and leapt towards him. The heat was intense and Dean coughed as the acrid smoke entered his lungs. He held his arm up shielding his eyes and face from the flames as he desperately searched for Sam. "Sammy," he choked. The heat and force of the flames forced him backwards and he narrowly missed being hit by a burning beam that crashed to the ground in front of him in an angry burst of flames and wood splinters.

Dean stumbled back outside and collapsed to the ground coughing. His eyes stung from the smoke and the tears falling down his face. "Sammy," he screamed as he looked back towards the raging inferno. There was no way in, the fire in its cruelty and viciousness had blocked the entrance with collapsed and burning beams.

Dean started as a hand touched his shoulder. "Dean," the voice whispered as soft fingers gently caressed his face.

Dean looked up. "Mom," he croaked.

 

**"The first time I laid my eyes on you I knew**

**We'd spend this life side by side**

**I still feel the same though you're so far away**

**I swear that you'll always be my**

**Forever Love** **"**

 

 

**Half an hour before the fire........**

 

Sam hummed to himself as he wandered up the narrow walkways of the greenhouse checking on the vast array of plants on each side of him. Sam stopped every now and again to inspect a plant carefully ensuring that it was healthy or to water some seedlings or just tend the smaller shrubs that would be planted in the gardens in the next month or so.

His mother had loved the gardens, had taken great pride in them. The greenhouse sheltered her most prized flowers and tropical plants with names that Sam always had trouble remembering. But he knew that his mother would have wanted him to continue to care for them. He missed her so much and felt the lump form in his throat as he thought about her.

As he wandered up and down Sam pushed thoughts of his mother away and let his mind fill instead with thoughts of Dean. Beautiful and mysterious Dean who had quite simply stolen his heart. Dean who seemed so lonely and vulnerable despite his prickly and defensive exterior and his aversion to being touched although Sam guessed that their love making had gone some way to curing that problem.

Sam had seen the myriad of emotions playing in Dean's beautiful green eyes. Fear, pain and mistrust danced in the green depths but Sam had also seen want and a craving for love, and sensed that the older man just wanted to be loved and give love in return. He grinned to himself happy. Sam still didn't know where he came from or what he did for a living, all he knew was that he loved Dean with all his heart even though they had only known each other for two days. It seemed like a lifetime to Sam and he couldn't and wouldn't think of his life without Dean at his side. All the other stuff didn't seem that important to him.

He had been so distraught and confused when Dean had disappeared after their night together leaving just a note and not even saying goodbye. Sam wondered what had upset and hurt Dean so much that he had run away and had been wracking his brain trying to think what he might have done or said that may have caused Dean to run but so far had come up with nothing. It was frustrating and he pushed the annoying thoughts to the back of his mind instead concentrating on memories of their love making. He smiled again. Sam had stayed in the rose garden all day hoping and praying that Dean would come back to him. But he had been disappointed and had finally given up when dusk fell and he had forced himself to leave and go back to the house.

He had refused dinner and locked himself in his room to brood alone. He had woken suddenly from dreams of Dean with the strong feeling that the older man was somewhere close, hurting, miserable and afraid. Sam couldn't explain the feeling and the overwhelming sensation running through his mind as he dressed hurriedly was that Dean needed him. Sam had found Dean in the rose garden and it had taken him over an hour to calm the older man down before half carrying him back to the house. He couldn't get Dean to talk to him properly and guessed that he was in shock from the obvious beating he looked like he had endured. The only words Dean had uttered made no sense to him then and even now, after twelve hours, they still made no sense whatsoever. Once in the bedroom Sam had cleaned Dean's bloodied cuts as best he could and stripped him naked forcing himself not to say anything about the new bruising on Dean's body. He had then persuaded Dean into bed and then had stripped himself and slipped into bed cautiously pulling Dean towards him. Sam couldn't help feeling happy when Dean curled into him and he had whispered calming words in his ear until he felt the older man slip into sleep.

A noise behind him startled him and Sam spun around to see Martin, one of the gardeners, standing in the door of the greenhouse.

"Sam, Sam, Sam," Martin moved his head from side to side. "You shouldn't be thinking of Dean," he growled as he leaned lazily against the door frame.

Sam frowned surprised at the aggressive attitude of the normally kind-hearted Martin. "What?" he asked as he took a step backwards sensing a danger he didn't really understand. For some reason this usually shy and quiet-spoken man oozed danger from every pore.

Martin raised his eyes and smirked. "Poor little Sammy.... doesn't know about Dean," he said in a voice silky with venom.

Sam stared at Martin. "I don't know what you.... you mean," he said defensively taking another step backwards. He was sure that he had seen Martin's eyes change colour but shook his head convincing himself it was a trick of the light. But there was a nagging doubt deep in his mind.

Martin's eyes flashed amber as he laughed nastily. "So innocent," he pushed himself off the door frame and took a step towards Sam. His eyes flashed amber again. "But may be not," he chuckled.

This time Sam wasn't mistaken. The man's eyes had definitely changed colour. He didn't know what was happening and he felt suddenly afraid. "You're not Martin," Sam accused trying to keep the waver out of his voice but not quite succeeding. Sam looked around desperately but he was trapped. The only way out was past the Martin lookalike.

"Smart boy," Martin smirked again. "Your momma did a good job," he sneered as he idly stroked a small shrub to his left. "No I'm not Martin.... I'm just borrowing his pathetic body."

"What?" Sam stuttered in disbelief. "What have you done with Martin?"

"He's in here with me," Martin answered as he continued to stroke the small shrub. The plant slowly blackened, withered and died under his caress. "He says hello by the way."

Sam couldn't believe what the man was saying and stared horrified at the dead shrub. Martin cackled at the younger man's reaction. The laugh snapped Sam out of his stupor. "My.... my mother," he stammered. "How do you know my mother?" Sam demanded snapping his attention away from the dead shrub back to Martin. He drew himself up to his full height pushing down his fear. "And just who the hell are you?"

Martin cackled again. "I'm your worst nightmare," he leaned forwards slightly grinning. "And I've waited so long for this moment," he stroked a finger down Sam's chest.

"I don't.... don't understand," Sam said slapping away the hand and stepping back out of Martin's reach. He was curious despite the terror rising up within him again.

"Of course you don't," Martin replied nastily. "I under-estimated your mother all those years ago. Forgot she was the daughter of a hunter. And let her trick me."

"A hunter? I don't .... don't understand," Sam stammered. He knew he was repeating himself but he couldn't help himself. He didn't understand anything and he could feel himself trembling.

Martin cackled. "So many secrets," he waggled a finger at Sam. "Mary Winchester was a hunter. Just like Dean. He's a hunter too," he revealed with a sneer.

"I don't.....," Sam started to say.

"I know," Martin laughed. "You don't understand," he mimicked Sam's voice perfectly. "But enough of all that," he waved his hand absently. "I'm here to collect what is rightfully mine." He took a step towards Sam reaching outwards.

"What?" Sam backed away from Martin even more.

"Why Sammy...... don't be afraid," Martin soothed. "Your mother promised you to me when you were a baby."

"I don't believe you," Sam interrupted as he glared at Martin. He glanced sideways and grabbed a long stick from the wooden bench. He gripped the weapon tightly prepared to defend himself.

Martin ignored the move. "Oh but she did," he taunted. "We made a deal. I let you both live. Brought you here and let you have five years together.... then you would be mine forever."

"She wouldn't do that," Sam protested horrified. He didn't understand what was happening, didn't know who this stranger was and how he knew so much about his mother. Sam shivered afraid tightening his grip again on the stick in his hand.

"Oh but she did," Martin hissed. "But then the bitch took advantage of my kind nature.....tricked me. Trapped me in her infernal garden for all these years but then I got lucky," he idly stroked another plant killing it. He turned his attention back to Sam and smiled his eyes flashing amber again. "She died and your stupid human gardeners released me," Martin leaned towards Sam. "And now I'm here to collect... put right what I should have done all those years ago."

Sam shrank back again. His mind was in turmoil not believing what he was hearing. "Leave me alone," he managed to choke out knowing that it sounded stupid and childish but he couldn't help himself. Sam was terrified and he wished that Dean was here.

"Tsk. Tsk," Martin waggled his fingers at Sam. "Thinking of your brother again."

"No," Sam denied truthfully. "My brother David died at Pearl Harbour."

Martin let out a long laugh before narrowing his eyes at Sam again. "I meant your biological brother," his eyes flashed amber again. "You know Dean," he gloated at the incredulous look on the younger man's face. "The one you've been getting up close and personal with."

"Dean?" Sam croaked as his fear turned to confusion at the man's taunting.

Martin chuckled. "It's a long story... and I'm not going to bore you with it," he leaned forwards again grinning widely.

"I don't believe you," Sam accused. His mind was reeling at what the man was telling him. His mouth was dry and his heart was pounding loudly in his chest and Sam hoped that Martin couldn't hear it. His mind was filled with Dean's mumbled words of the night before. "I think I killed our father," repeated over and over in his head. Dean was his brother. Mary was Dean's mother as well. "No," Sam's mind screamed as he shook his head not believing what he was hearing. It was impossible. "You're lying," he spat.

"No I'm not... well not this time," Martin smirked triumphantly. "Your mother was the liar. So in her memory I think I will bore you a little bit with .... your real family history," he chuckled again enjoying the confusion emanating from the young man. "Pretty Dean Winchester is your brother. And you do think he's pretty don't you?" Martin mocked.

Sam jutted his jaw out and glared silently at his tormenter determined not to give the man the satisfaction of a reply. Martin laughed loudly seemingly amused at Sam's stubbornness. "Silent treatment huh? Now where was I," he studied a grime filled nail with obvious distaste. "Your mother was also his mother. But here's the kicker," he snorted happily at the look of horror crossing the younger man's face. "You don't belong here Sam. You were born in another place...... another time. Kansas to be exact. Just like Dean," Martin straightened up and grinned at Sam victoriously. He narrowed his eyes and they glowed bright orange. "Let me show you," he offered.

Sam glared back. He tried not to flinch with shock as Martin's eyes glowed bright orange again and he took a nervous step backwards. Martin smirked at him and Sam clutched at his head dropping the stick to the ground as a sharp pain lanced through him. He slumped to his knees as images flashed through his mind. Images of a burning nursery. Of a crying baby. Of his mother her belly slashed burning on the ceiling. Images of a dark haired man shoving a baby at a small blonde haired boy and telling him to run. Sam cried out as they replayed over and over in his mind. "Stop it," he cried. "Stop it."

"Seen enough," Martin smirked again. "Your mother should have died that night but I saved her.... brought you both here. You were mine," he said angrily. "But she lied and betrayed me. I should have killed you all that night."

Sam dragged himself back to his feet. He rubbed at his temple trying to ease the lingering pain. "I don't believe you. It's not possible.... it's some kind of trick," he said stubbornly. He didn't want to believe. His mind was in turmoil and he felt confused and bewildered. Deep down Sam knew that it was true even sensed that the man wasn't lying to him but he didn't want to believe. Despite his fear he could feel anger rising within him. Sam found himself moving cautiously back towards the man, hands clenching and unclenching.

"May be.... may be not," Martin cocked his head to one side regarding the young man in front of him. He could feel the waves of confusion and anger coming of the younger man and revelled in the thought that he had caused it. Martin couldn't help grinning again. "So.... back to my revenge on your bitch of a mother," he snarled. "I've decided that you are no longer of any use to me.... so today you are going to die. And this time I will succeed since you escaped my little cliff adventure."

"That was you?" Sam accused as he stopped dead in his tracks. It was all starting to make a weird sort of sense to him. And somewhere Dean belonged here. Belonged right in the middle of all the confusion at his side.

"Of course it was me," Martin mimicked Mary's voice perfectly. "Ohhhh... you thought your dead mother was calling to you." He laughed as he watched the colour drain from Sam's face.

"My mother would never hurt me. Ever," Sam felt that he to defend his dead mother. "Or promise me to anyone else."

Martin clapped his hands again as he grinned ignoring Sam's protest. "Now where was I... oh yes you are going to pay for your mother's crimes against..... well me," Martin smiled evilly again. "And when I'm done with you.... I'm going to kill Dean very slowly.... and very painfully," Martin scoffed as he clapped his hands again in delight as he watched the colour drain from Sam's face again. "My revenge on Mary Winchester will be complete. I get to kill both her sons."

"You leave him alone," Sam sprang forwards intent on hurting the man who was insulting his mother's memory and threatening to hurt Dean. "I won't let you hurt him." Before he could reach or touch Martin he felt a pressure on his neck and Sam dropped to his knees desperately fighting the invisible force that was squeezing the air slowly out of him. Sam struggled to breathe, could feel his heart thudding in his ears as he clawed at his neck desperate to draw air into his oxygen starved lungs.

"That is so like the Winchester that you are," Martin released his grip slightly. "Since my escape... I've done my homework on your family," he regarded his nails again. "And it should be easy to kill them all. And the beauty of my plan is that no-one will miss them."

Sam let out a long loud breath as the pressure around his neck was released. He panted as he struggled to his feet. Coughing Sam glared at Martin rubbing at his neck. "Just leave him alone," Sam croaked. "Do what you want to me... but leave Dean alone."

"And as I said not so innocent," Martin accused. "You beg like a lover not a brother."

"Please," Sam begged not caring if he sounded pathetic. He wanted to save Dean, could only think of saving Dean. His life didn't matter as long as Dean was safe.

Martin stared at Sam for a moment before shaking his head slowly. "I wish I could Sam... but your mother sealed your fate when she tricked me. You die today Sam ..... and then I am going to kill your brother.... no make that lover." Martin flicked his fingers at Sam with a laugh. "I think it's kind of appropriate that you are going to burn..... just like you would for loving and having sex with your brother... you and he should burn in the fires of hell."

Sam shook his head taking small steps backwards away from his tormenter. The tears that had been burning behind his eyes spilled out and ran down his face. He swiped at them angrily but they wouldn't stop. Sam watched in horror as all of Martin's fingers lit up. Orange flames burst out of the man's finger tips. Martin flicked his hands upwards. The flames grew and leapt upwards hitting the wooden beams in the top of the greenhouse igniting them. Sam watched mesmerised as the flames crept along the beams and down the wooden support struts of the greenhouse burning and charring everything in their wake and path.

Sam coughed again as smoke began to fill the greenhouse. He turned his attention back to Martin. Taking a deep breath Sam leapt forwards again. This time Sam felt a force, like a brick wall, hit him hard in the chest. He gasped in pain as the wind was knocked out of him. The force hit him again flinging him backwards. The back of his head struck a wooden support strut and Sam yelped in pain as he slid down the wall his vision going blurry. Darkness was trying to claim him and Sam battled with everything he had to stay conscious. He was going to escape and save Dean not able to bear the thought of Dean all alone. Sam rolled onto his side as the first glass pane exploded inwards showering him with hundreds of shards. Sam could hear Martin laughing and he glanced up to see the man standing in the midst of the flames as though he was orchestrating the fire. A cracking sound made Sam look upwards. He cried out rolling again as a beam came crashing down towards the ground.

 

**Half an hour later.....**

 

Dean looked up. "Mom," he croaked as he dragged himself to his feet leaning into her gentle touch.

Mary smiled at him. "Yes Dean," she said.

"I.... I don't understand," Dean said confused. Another beam crashing noisily to the ground snapped Dean's attention away from his mother to the burning greenhouse. "Sammy," he cried dragging himself to his feet.

"Dean," Mary said firmly. "Take my hand," she offered Dean her hand. "I promise the fire won't touch or hurt you," she assured.

Dean frowned but took the offered hand. He knew that she was dead but she felt warm and alive. He glanced sideways and she smiled at him. Dean frowned again but this was his mother and he trusted her. Mary squeezed her eldest son's hand in reassurance. "Don't be scared," she whispered as she led him into the fire.

Dean was terrified but he swallowed down his fear and clasped his mother's hand tightly. As they entered the greenhouse he expected to feel the intense heat and scorching of his skin but he felt nothing. The flames danced around them spitting and flickering but they never once touched them. It was as though Mary was clearing a path for them to walk along as if they were in a huge protective bubble. The smoke was still thick however and Dean squinted peering into the building desperately searching for Sam. He tugged his mother forwards.

"Don't let go Dean," Mary warned as she held onto her son's hand sensing and knowing that he would pull away from her if he saw Sam. Mary had seen them together. Knew that they loved each other. She couldn't bring herself to be disgusted at their love as neither had known they were brothers. All she knew was that they needed each other. And somehow, Mary guessed, that love was going to find a way for her boys.

"Sam," Dean screamed into the smoke. He couldn't lose Sam. Brother or lover he didn't care. Dean didn't want to be alone or live without Sam. He wasn't sure how they could be together but Dean was determined to find a way or die trying.

Dean coughed as he fought his way towards the back of the greenhouse. "Sammy," he croaked squinting through the smoke filled air again. Desperation was slowly filling him and Dean could feel the panic rising. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam laying on his side under one of the wooden benches. A large wooden ceiling beam was laying close to him but it looked as though Sam had managed to roll under the bench to protect himself. A wave of relief washed over Dean and without thinking shrugged off Mary's hand as he hurried to Sam's side. He immediately felt the heat of the flames and he could feel himself sweating. But Dean didn't care. Sam needed him. Dean dodged the flames and falling pieces of timber as he made his way to Sam's side.

Pushing the timber beam out of the way Dean knelt down rolling Sam over onto his back. He was unconscious but Dean could see that Sam was still breathing. Dean let out the breath he was holding and ran his hand down the younger man's face. He coughed a harsh barking cough as the smoke stuck in his throat and Dean vaguely felt his mother touching his shirt and holding on tight. The intensity of the blistering heat immediately subsided and Dean turned his attention back to Sam. He coughed again as he pulled Sam into his arms hugging him tightly. "Sammy," he whispered. Sam didn't stir and his head flopped onto Dean's shoulder. Dean pressed his lips to Sam's neck gently. "OK," he said grabbing hold of the front of Sam's shirt. "Let's get outta here," he huffed as he lifted Sam up.

His muscles and aching body protested but Dean was determined. He wasn't leaving Sam to die. With his precious bundle over his shoulder and his mother clutching one arm Dean staggered through the burning building, dodging pieces of the roof as it slowly collapsed and crashed noisily to the floor. He flinched every time the windows exploded flinging tiny glass shards towards them as they moved through the flames and debris. Dean instinctively sidestepped the flames as they leapt towards them. With his mother still clutching his arm the flames ignored them and snaked along the floor and up the walls swallowing up the greenhouse in their fiery path. Through the smoke Dean could see the doorway and with one last effort he put his head down and ran as fast as he ever had towards safety.

Once he was a safe distance from the inferno, Dean slumped to his knees carefully laying Sam onto the ground. A loud cracking filled his ears and Dean looked over his shoulder just as the greenhouse roof caved in completely. He leaned protectively over Sam as a shower of cinders, glass, red hot sparks and smoke exploded noisily around them rising up into the sky.

Dean pulled Sam onto his lap gently cradling the younger man in his arms. He ran his hand down Sam's face wiping at the soot from the fire. He could feel the soft thud thud of Sam's heart against his belly and thankfully his skin was warm to the touch. Dean bent over and could feel Sam's soft breath caressing his face and he sighed with relief. Sam was alive and Dean suspected that the blood in his hair had something to do with him still being unconscious. "Sammy," he whispered as he gently kissed Sam's forehead. Dean didn't care that he had probably changed the future, he just cared that Sam was alive and warm in his arms. Nothing else mattered to him. Dean looked up at his mother who was standing slightly to the side watching as the greenhouse burned.

"I still don't get it," Dean stuttered confused. "You're dead right?" He flushed slightly at the insensitive question but he needed answers.

Mary chuckled softly. "Yes Dean," she answered turning towards her elder son. "I died two months ago."

Although he knew that his mother probably wasn't an angry spirit, Dean's hunter instincts automatically kicked in. "So why are you here?" he asked curious as he unconsciously tightened his grip on Sam.

Mary noticed the protective movement and smiled to herself. "I'm not really sure," she frowned as she leant down and gently touched Sam's face smiling as the younger man murmured softly. She felt Dean visibly relax.

"Some spirits stay because they can't leave for some reason," Dean offered the only explanation he could think of. "Perhaps you stayed to save Sam," he suggested.

"May be," Mary said softly. She knew deep inside her that she wasn't here for Sam. Dean was. "But somehow I think that was always your job... your destiny," she finished with another small smile.

Dean stared up at her. "Someone else told me that," he stuttered remembering older Beatrice's words to him.

"Dean," Mary touched his arm. "We haven't got a lot of time... so you have to listen carefully," she started to say knowing that the fire would eventually attract the attention of the gardeners working near the house.

"Don't go," Dean looked up at his mother. "Stay."

"Dean," she traced her fingers down his cheek. "You and I both know that I can't stay. I have to go."

"I know," Dean mumbled looking back down to Sam. He knew his mother couldn't stay, knew that he wouldn't have the chance to get to know her properly but it didn't make it any easier. It still hurt leaving a deep ache within him. He looked back to Mary pushing down the myriad of emotions that were spinning through his body. She was so beautiful just as he remembered her.

"But before I go I need to tell you what I know," Mary interrupted his thoughts.

"How do you know about the devil's trap stuff?" Dean asked curious.

Mary chuckled. "My father and two brothers were hunters," she explained. "I grew up surrounded by the supernatural and hunting. I even hunted with them for a while. Killed my first werewolf when I was fifteen."

"What?" Dean said in shock. He hadn't known what to expect but hearing that his mother was from a hunting family and was a hunter herself was a shock to him.

Mary nearly laughed at the shocked look on Dean's face but bit the inside of her lip. She knew that John Winchester had, himself, turned to hunting when she and Sam had disappeared. When the demon had escaped from the trap, it had sought her out and forced her to witness their life, witness how cruel and vicious her loving husband had become. She had watched with tears in her eyes as John Winchester had hurt their elder son over and over turning him into the frightened and wounded young man in front of her. The demon had taunted and mocked her and then surprisingly had released her. Mary wasn't a fool sensing that the demon had other plans for her and her family and knew that she would be forced to watch as it killed her sons. Mary shook herself turning her attention back to Dean and her explanation. "I was brought up knowing that werewolves and poltergeists are real.... that there was danger hiding in the darkness. Then I met your father one day in a coffee shop. He was everything I ever wanted. My normal," Mary smiled sadly. "But my family hated him... thought he was an outsider. But I loved him so I turned my back on them. Turned my back on hunting and left demons and goodness knows what else behind.... I thought I was done with demons for good but I never forgot what I had been taught as a child."

"So you built the trap?" Dean interrupted.

"Yes," Mary nodded. "I know it's crude but it was from memory," she waved a hand towards the garden. "And then I tricked the demon into it when it came back for Sam."

"It came for Sam?" Dean tightened his hold of the younger man again.

Mary bit at her lip. "When the demon came all those years ago....it wanted Sam then but I persuaded..... I made a deal with it.... and it brought me and Sam here and then left us for five years. I never understood why. To this day I still don't understand why it gave us five years. But when the demon came back for Sam I was ready for it and tricked it into the trap."

"And you trapped it there for all those years?" Dean couldn't help being impressed.

"Yes. I'm my father's daughter... I think he would have been proud of me," Mary smiled at Dean. "But then I died and I couldn't protect the gardens any more and keep the trap strong. And the gardeners accidentally broke it a couple of months ago."

"The hedges," Dean interrupted. "They moved the dead hedges and planted new ones but not in the right place."

Mary smiled. "Yes Dean.... but it wasn't their fault... they didn't know but the demon escaped."

"And it's back for Sam?" Dean said. "But not to turn him into a demon or whatever it has planned for him .... to kill him," he frowned puzzled. "But why kill him now? Why not kill him when he was a baby?"

"I think in revenge," Mary shrugged. "Pure and simple. Revenge because I tricked it all those years ago."

"I still don't understand," Dean said frustrated. "What about me? How did I get here?"

"I'm not sure," Mary said equally frustrated. "It was a bit of a shock to find my other son here," she smiled at Dean. "But I do remember my father telling me about demons who could harness time and move back and forwards through two time periods. But that each time period had to have a link... and I think this time the link is Sam," she explained. "Sam lives here .... but he really belongs in the future."

"But how?" Dean asked. He had never come across a time travelling demon in his time as a hunter and he was sure that his father hadn't either. He shuddered at the thought of his father and in the darker recesses of his mind could still see him lying in his own blood.

"I think they use symbols around something like the archway," Mary pointed towards the rose garden. "There are symbols around that archway burnt into the brickwork. I never destroyed them because," she shrugged. "I thought the demon was trapped forever."

"You came to my time?" Dean stated. "Beatrice, her daughter and some of the house staff saw a woman. That was you? You used the archway?"

"No I could never use the archway," Mary replied. "I tried over and over before I died. I think if I hadn't made the deal with the demon I would have died the night it came for Sam.... I don't belong there so I have no link. Not even Sam. Not even you."

Dean looked down trying to get his mind around what he was being told. "So how did you do it?"

"I just thought my way there. I hoped it would work... wasn't sure it would work but I had to try," Mary answered simply. "I guessed that Beatrice wouldn't change the house or the gardens. She always loved it just as it is today. So I stood near the archway.... concentrated and let myself go imagining myself wandering through the house and gardens.... even broke a couple of things, flooded a room," she laughed lightly. "Started a few fires... and even frightened a couple of burly gardeners. I was hoping to attract my family to the haunting. Hoping they would see the devil's trap and know what to do," she gave him a small smile. "Instead I attracted my other beautiful son."

Dean flushed at the compliment. "But how did I get here? I didn't think myself here," Dean couldn't help pinching himself to make sure he was real. "And I don't think I'm a demon," he shivered at the thought.

Mary stared into the distance for a moment lost in thought. "I think you somehow used the same link the demon is using .... Sam. You're his brother so the magic, or hoodoo or voodoo," she waved her hand in the air. "Or whatever the hell it is let you move back in time to Sam. Let you connect with someone that you should have always been close to."

Dean flushed knowing that he was now more than a brother to Sam. He looked down at the younger man. Sam was still unconscious but his breathing was deep and even. Dean absently brushed his hair from his forehead. "OK," Dean looked back to his mother. "So how do we kill this demon?"

"I guess like any other demons," Mary surmised. "With a trap and a bit of old fashioned Latin verse. But you have to trap this demon in one time period," she looked around. "I don't sense it here so it must be in your time.... may be even looking for you or my family."

"Do you think it's gonna go after your family?" Dean asked softly.

"Oh yes," Mary said certainly. "I think it wants to kill everything I love and have ever loved."

"If I trap it in my time Sam will be safe here," Dean said as he stroked Sam's face lightly. "He can live out his life in peace and safety."

"Is that what you really want Dean?" Mary asked.

"No," Dean answered honestly. His voice wavered with emotion and the thought of leaving Sam behind and never seeing him again hurt him deeply. "But it's best for Sam."

Mary regarded the young man in front of her for a moment. Her eldest son had grown into a strong, kind and gentle man despite all the hurt that she could see hiding behind his expressive eyes. Every day of her life she had regretted leaving him behind and had hoped that John would care and love his son as she had loved Sam. But the demon had showed her that her husband had turned into a monster far worse than the creatures he hunted because he preyed on his own son. Dean displayed the evidence of the cruelty with the bruising on his face and body and the anguish and fear in his expression and eyes. Mary wished that Dean would think of himself as easily as he seemed to consider Sam and his feelings and it saddened her more than she cared to admit. But she could see the look of steely determination in his eyes. Mary gave him a small nod. "If I remember rightly the only way to trap it in one time is to take the last stone of the archway with you and destroy it ..... therefore closing the door," she explained.

Dean nodded. His heart was breaking at the thought of leaving the only person that had ever cared for him behind but he knew it was best for Sam. Dean was used to being lonely and miserable. He would be alone and unhappy but Sam would be safe and that was all that mattered to him. "We'll do that then," he said determined biting at his lips to fight back the tears that were threatening.

"Are you sure Dean?" Mary asked. She could almost see the battle raging within her elder son and she wanted to take him in her arms and hold him and make everything alright. Make his life go away but Mary knew that wasn't possible. She had missed her opportunity to be Dean's mother all those years ago and her heart ached with sadness that she would carry with her forever.

Dean gave her a sharp nod. "But first we have to put the devil's trap back in place. If we put it right here hopefully it will stay the same in my time," he shot her his most confident look. "And then I'll lure it in and send the bastard back to hell. For you. For Sammy."

"And for you," Mary whispered as she reached out and touched Dean's face again drinking in the feel of his warm skin. She knew that her elder son would take care of the demon and protect Sam and the thought lightened her heavy heart. She gently ran her fingers over the new and healing bruises. "I'm sorry Dean," she mumbled.

Dean pulled away from the touch afraid that he wouldn't be able to let her go. All his life he had desperately wanted and needed the gentle loving touch of a parent but all he had gotten was stinging slaps and bruising punches. He knew now that he would never feel the love of a parent again. Dean frowned up at his mother. "What for?" he asked confused.

"For leaving you.... for leaving you and your father alone," Mary replied with a sad smile. "For everything. I thought I was doing the right thing. Thought I was protecting you both."

Dean shrugged and turned his attention back to Sam. "I understand," he said softly though in his heart he would never understand. If his mother had stayed may be his life wouldn't have been so wretched and filled with hate. May be his father would have been different, would have loved him instead of beaten him. But he shivered knowing deep down that he could never change what had happened. He may have changed Sam's future but Dean knew that he could never change his past. He didn't deserve that.

"This is for you," Mary took off her necklace and carefully placed it over Dean's head. Dean looked down studying the unusual looking bronze type charm of a peculiar man's head with horns. He looked up at Mary again frowning. "For protection," she whispered. "My father gave it to me on my fourteenth birthday. It was blessed by a holy man. Promise me you'll always wear it."

"I promise," Dean fingered the amulet. Sam stirred in his arms and Dean turned his attention away from his mother to the younger man. "Dean?" Sam forced his eyes open looking up at concerned green eyes staring down at him.

"Yeah Sammy," Dean gave him a small smile as he helped Sam up into a sitting position. "You OK?"

"It's Sam.    And my head hurts a bit," Sam complained. "But I'm OK." He was just about to say something when his eyes fell on his mother. "Mom?" he said his mind still fuzzy.

"Yes sweetie," Mary smiled.

"I don't.... don't understand," Sam rolled his eyes at himself knowing that he had said that too often in the last half an hour. Suddenly panicked he searched around looking for the Martin look-alike. He had to protect Dean.

Dean instinctively knew what Sam was looking for. He put a hand on the younger man's arm hoping his touch would calm Sam. Sam settled immediately and looked at Dean for an answer. "He's gone for now," Dean soothed. "It's OK." Sam nodded and turned back to his mother. Sam was so confused and his mind was desperately trying to process everything he had seen and heard. But he was still bewildered and slightly afraid. He moved closer to Dean and immediately felt safe and protected.

Mary knelt by their side. "I have to go," she said softly.

"No," Sam shouted grabbing her hand. "Don't go.... please don't leave us." Dean managed to hide his surprise at Sam's words not really understanding why Sam had included him in his plaintive pleading.

"Sam," Mary said softly as she caressed a hand down his face. "I have to go. I can't stay.... I'm sorry."

"But," Sam started to say.

"No buts Sam," his mother gently chastised. She leant forwards pulling Sam into her arms. Sam clutched at his mother desperately wanting her to stay but knew deep down that she had to leave. Mary had so much she wanted to say to Sam but knew she didn't have a lot of time. With a deep sigh Mary whispered in his ear so Dean couldn't hear her words. "I will always love you wherever you are. Be safe. Be happy. Don't be scared. I know Dean will take care of you. Love Dean as he loves you. As I know you love him," she kissed his neck. "Don't let him push you away. You belong together. Don't let him be alone."

"I won't," Sam promised softly as he pulled out of his mother's embrace.

With one last caress at Dean's face Mary got to her feet and stepped back away from her beloved sons. She couldn't help smiling to herself. Her job was done. Her sons were united at long last. A yellowish light seemed to envelope her body encircling her form. Her long flowing blonde hair and skin seemed to glow and shine as the light circled round and round their mother. Mary smiled at Dean and Sam as the light seemed to grow brighter. Sam and Dean shaded their eyes against the light and watched as their mother disappeared into the light a soft smile still gracing her features.

They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Dean turned to Sam and flinched slightly at the expression on Sam's face. Dean looked away ignoring the questions he could see in the younger man's face. He guessed and sensed that the demon had visited Sam and told him everything. Dean shuddered as the answers to the questions silently bombarded his mind and he could feel his self-loathing and disgust for himself growing within him and threatening to overwhelm him. But he had a job to do. He had a demon to send back to hell. He had to protect Sam from the demon. Had to let the love of his life go. Dean forced himself to turn back to Sam and was surprised by the smile the younger man gave him. He ignored the look as he dragged himself to his feet. "We've got work to do," Dean announced as a new determination filled him.

 

 

**"I promise you**

**Someday we'll be together**

**Forever Love**

**I won't give up No matter what"**

**Dean**

 

Dean leaned forward onto the spade taking a breather from his digging. His body still ached from the beating his father had given him and digging had aggravated the bruising. He angrily pushed thoughts of his father to the back of his mind. Dean flexed his shoulders carefully as he squinted into the darkness making sure that he was still alone. He cocked his head to one side listening his hunter instincts on full alert. The house behind him was still in darkness and Dean remembered "his Beatrice" telling him that Sam's father hadn't arrived back at the house until the next day. The gardeners had left hours ago after the fire had finally been put out. Even the police officers that had been called had left obviously waiting for Sam's father to return. The demon hadn't reappeared and Dean knew that it was probably in 2007 wreaking havoc on Mary's family. He had to hurry. If he could get back to his time soon may be he could warn them but Dean knew deep down that he was probably too late. The demon would be taking its revenge and then it would come back to make sure Sam was dead and may be even Dean himself.

Dean pushed the spade into the ground again and shovelled the earth out of the hole he was slowly digging in a desperate bid to put the small hedges back in line re-forming the devil's trap his mother had created.

His mother. The thought hit him like a sledge hammer and Dean stopped his work again letting his thoughts turn to his mother as he fingered the amulet she had given him. He barely remembered her from his childhood but as she stood in front of him all his memories came flooding back. Her voice, her touch, her smile her very being. And he missed her so much that his heart ached with the loss. She had been snatched away from him again and Dean couldn't help feeling lonely knowing that he would never see her again, never touch or speak to her again. This time she was gone for good. Closing his eyes Dean idly touched his face trying to imagine her soft touch again.

Dean sighed heavily as he opened his eyes and gazed at the hedges seeing the formation of the devil's trap in his mind's eye. He had one more hedge to reposition before he could go back to his time and kill the demon. Kill the demon that had changed his life forever one night when he was four years old. Kill the demon that had taken his mother and brother, and even his father. The demon's death or banishment to hell would be his revenge for the loss of the life he could have had.

Dean sighed again. After their mother had disappeared into the light they had hidden in an abandoned shed behind a bank of trees watching in silence as the gardeners had valiantly tried to put the fire out. Finally after two hours the men had succeeded and what was left of the greenhouse was now a smouldering heap of collapsed wood, smashed glass and burned and charred plants and shrubs.

Dean had tried to persuade Sam to stay near the greenhouse but his younger brother would have none of it and remained stubborn and obstinate in the face of his pleading that he could live out his life in safety and peace. Afraid that the demon would unexpectedly return Dean had finally relented too tired and weary to argue any more and let himself be led to an abandoned shed hidden out of sight behind a bank of trees. They hadn't spoken for the whole two hours they had been hiding and Dean was careful to stay out of reach of Sam. He didn't want Sam touching him. They had touched as lovers and it had felt so real and so right. And for the first time in his life, Dean had felt loved, needed and wanted. But now all Dean felt was disgust for himself and stubbornly ignored the little voice inside telling him that he loved Sam, would always love Sam and that the love they felt was right for them. Dean hated himself. He was disgusting and Dean shivered despite the warm evening air.

Out of the corner of his eyes Dean had caught Sam staring at him several times during their silent wait. The expression on his face was warm, loving and full of understanding but Dean couldn't believe what he was seeing so he turned away pointedly ignoring the younger man. He wasn't going to talk about it ever. Dean would keep his promise to his mother - he would protect Sam and make sure he was safe. But he knew they could never be together. Sam was staying in the forties. He would be safe and loved here. And Dean would return to 2007 and go back to being miserable and lonely. It was all he deserved.

**Sam**

Sam swung the pick axe at the archway again. They had agreed to split up. Dean would reset the small hedges because he knew what a devil's trap looked like. And Sam would get the last stone from the archway. He swung the pick axe again hoping that the noise wouldn't bring anyone to investigate.

Sam looked nervously around hoping that Martin or whoever he was wouldn't re-appear. He was frightened and confused. Sam's mind was spinning nearly out of control with all that he had learned in the last few hours. Dean was his brother. He had been born in another time. His mother had kept secrets from him all his life. His father wasn't his father. And Sam sensed that his biological father was the man he could never see in his visions and knew without a doubt that his father was the man responsible for hurting and beating Dean. It was nearly too much for Sam to comprehend but as he worked patiently at loosening the stone his mind slowly calmed and he was beginning to come to terms with the truth of his birth, the truth of his destiny. He didn't know or understand why but he believed everything he had been told by the cruel man and both his mother and Dean hadn't said anything to contradict what the Martin lookalike had told him in the greenhouse.

In fact Dean hadn't said anything at all since they had escaped into the abandoned shed. His brother - that sounded strange to Sam - had tried to persuade him to stay behind and live his life but he had stubbornly refused and dragged a tired looking Dean to a shed where he knew they wouldn't be disturbed or found. Sam really hadn't a clue why he had refused the offer. It just felt right. He could have stayed, lived his life out in peace may be even married but deep inside Sam knew his life would be a lie, would be empty and lonely without Dean. Sam belonged at Dean's side. And he wanted and needed to be with Dean. Now he just had to convince Dean.

Sam let out yet another sigh and he glared at the archway. He had managed to lever one of the stones out of place and he was now working on loosening the second as he wasn't really too sure which stone was the last one and he wanted to get it right. For Dean. For himself. Sam swung the pick axe half-heartedly again as he let his thoughts drift back to their hours in the shed.

The silence had been oppressive as they waited. The quiet had wrapped itself around them both as unspoken truths and unasked questions hung in the air between them. Sam had tried to talk to Dean. He had a million questions he needed answers to, but the older man had just ignored him flinching away from his touch and every effort he made to talk. Sam admitted to himself that Dean's behaviour had hurt but he was determined. Sam loved Dean so much. He didn't care that they were brothers. But he could see the pain, hurt and disgust in Dean's expressive eyes and Sam knew that he would have to tread carefully. Sam glanced sideways at his hastily packed bag. When they had agreed to divide up the jobs

Sam had sneaked back into the house and stuffed as much as he could into a bag and he had left his home without a backwards glance or any regret. They belonged together in 1948 or 2007 - Sam didn't care. There was no way that Dean was leaving him behind.

A noise behind him jolted him out of his thoughts and Sam snapped his head around. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest and he licked at his suddenly dry lips. Sam gripped the pick axe in a defensive pose until his knuckles were white. Peering into the darkness he tried to make out what or who had made the sound. Something touched his shoulder and Sam yelped in surprise swinging around and raising the pick axe over his head ready to strike.

"Easy," Dean stepped back his hands out in front of him. "It's only me."

"Don't do that," Sam hissed defensively as he lowered the pick axe. "You scared the life outta me."

Dean gave him a small smile. The first one Sam had gotten out of the older man since the fire. "Sorry," Dean apologized sheepishly. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's OK," Sam smiled back. He desperately wanted to reach out but he knew that Dean would just flinch away. Sam decided to bide his time.

"You done?" Dean asked looking around.

"Nearly," Sam swung the pick axe again. "You?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "The trap is back in place... and hopefully it will stay like that in .... well you know my time," he stammered.

Sam nodded as he swung the pick axe once more. He sighed with relief as he felt the last block loosening. "I wasn't sure which one was the last stone....," he babbled nervously. "So I got both," he offered the first stone to Dean.

"Sounds like a plan," Dean agreed as he studied the ancient symbol carved into the brick. He didn't recognise it and trusted that his mother had been right - that destroying the stone would close the door between the two time periods, therefore trapping the demon in one time making it easier to kill or send back to hell.

"What does a hunter do?" Sam asked as he swung the pick axe again.

"You don't want to know," Dean answered surprised at the question. He cocked his head to one side studying the younger man. "You don't need to know."

"Yes I do," Sam persisted. "It... that thing said my mother was a hunter... said you were too."

"It is called a demon," Dean shrugged.

"So.. are you a hunter?" Sam asked. "Do you hunt demons for..... you know a living?"

"Yeah," Dean admitted quietly. "And the pay is crap."

"So what does a hunter do?" Sam asked again.

"I said before. You don't want to know," Dean repeated frustrated with the barrage of questions.

"Why won't you tell me?" Sam insisted stubbornly.

"Because you don't need to know... and I'm the big brother and I say so," Dean snapped angrily. The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about what he was saying. Dean looked at Sam horrified and took a step backwards. He could feel the tears stinging at his eyes and could feel himself losing control of his pent up emotions. His mother. His father. His brother. His crappy life. Everything was bombarding him at once and his emotions were unusually close to the surface bubbling up confusing him and making him want to run away and hide. Dean wanted to scream away his pain but instead he clenched his fists in an effort to get himself back under control. His mind was screaming at him and Dean turned away from Sam trying the shut the younger man out.

Sam could almost see Dean crumbling in front of him, could almost see the powerful emotions taking hold and overwhelming the older man. He seized the opportunity before Dean closed himself off completely. Sam took a deep breath. "When are we going to talk about it?" he finally asked.

"We're not," Dean snapped turning back to Sam eyes blazing with fury. In an effort to distract himself Dean bent down to retrieve the stone from the ground at the same time Sam bent down. Their hands touched and Dean thought he could feel the electricity the touch produced right down to every nerve ending his body. He sucked in a silent breath glancing at Sam who was staring at their hands transfixed and Dean knew that he was feeling the same strong connection. The same love that Dean himself felt. The silence of the garden echoed around them and time seemed to stand still as they stood hands still touching lightly. Suddenly disgusted with himself Dean snatched his hand away and straightened up hoping that Sam couldn't hear his heart pounding loudly in his chest.

"But I want to talk about it. We have to talk about it," Sam persisted as he too straightened up still holding the stone in his hand. Sam looked deep into Dean's eyes and could see his mother's familiar eyes and features looking back at him and wondered why he had never noticed before. But Sam didn't care. Brother or lover. He loved Dean and was going to tell him every day. "I love you Dean," he whispered.

"Well I don't wanna talk about it.... and you can't love me." Dean moved further away from Sam wrapping his arms around his body. Sam cautiously reached out to touch Dean again. Dean flinched as though he had been burned. "Don't," he snarled. "Just don't touch me." He didn't want to feel the connection, didn't want to feel their love as it pulsed through their bodies.

"Dean," Sam begged.

"No," Dean snarled taking another step backwards.

"Please," Sam persisted.

"I can't love you... I can't," Dean murmured over and over as he sunk to the ground burying his head in his hands and rocking back and forwards as he let his misery wash over him. "I can't love anyone. I don't know how."

Sam's heart nearly broke at the desolate and forlorn words. He cautiously stepped closer dropping to his knees. He put the stone to one side carefully. "You can. And you do," Sam gently caressed Dean's arms smiling to himself at the small victory when Dean didn't pull away from the touch. He decided to press home his advantage. "I love you. And I think you love me."

"I didn't know..... I'm sorry... so sorry," Dean sobbed not really hearing what Sam was saying to him. "I wouldn't .... wouldn't have tou... touched you. Wouldn't have made love.... love with you," he forced out as he looked up into Sam's eyes. "If... if I'd known we.... were brothers. I'm so sorry," he repeated. "So sorry."

"I know," Sam assured. "But I don't care. I love you. Today. Tomorrow. Forever."

Dean snorted and scrubbed his hand across his hands wiping angrily at his tears trying to get himself under control knowing that they really didn't have time for this. The demon could return at any time. "Dude. I'm pretty sure that incest is frowned... frowned upon in your time too," he said his tone sounding lost and hopeless.

"Probably," Sam frowned. "But we weren't brought up as brothers. We never knew the other existed until today.... so it doesn't count," he gave Dean a small reassuring smile. "And I loved you the first time I laid my eyes on you. I knew you were the one."

Dean stared at Sam surprised. "You did?" the words escaped before Dean had a chance to stop them. He bit at his lips nervously. He desperately wanted to believe but all his life he had been disappointed and hurt over and over again that he couldn't bring himself to believe anyone or anything. Dean had gotten so used to not deserving anything that he found the situation confusing and he didn't know how to react or feel. His heart was telling him that he loved Sam but his head was telling him that he didn't deserve happiness or love. Sam nodded and Dean could feel a small slither of hope blossom in his heart warming his soul. His self loathing and disgust was slowly being beaten down by a greater emotion - love. Sam's love for him. "But," he started to protest. Dean couldn't help himself - he was still afraid and unsure of his own self worth.

Sam could see the warring emotions in Dean's eyes. "No buts," Sam interrupted as he caressed a hand gently down Dean's bruised face. "You're stuck with me whether you like it or not."

Dean stared at Sam searching his face for any hint of a lie or untruth and was surprised to find only truth and love reflected in the hazel eyes looking at him. "I like," Dean whispered honestly even though he knew that he would be leaving Sam behind. He didn't really understand why Sam loved someone like him but he knew that being close to Sam made him feel like a better person.

"Well that's a start," Sam said with a happy smile.

Dean gave Sam a small lopsided smile as he dragged himself to his feet. "OK. But right now I've got a demon to send back to hell."

Getting to his feet Sam pulled a face. "We've got a demon to send back to hell," he interrupted.

"You've got to stay here," Dean protested. He knew in his head that it was for the best but his heart was telling him something else altogether. He knew that with Sam at his side Dean Winchester would never be lonely again. It was selfish he knew but for once in his life Dean wanted and needed something - Sam in his life. And it made his resolve to leave Sam in the forties waver.

"The hell I will," Sam protested loudly. "I'm coming with you," Sam nodded towards his bag. "And I'm not taking no for an answer." He folded his arms across his chest in a determined pose.

"You'll be safe here," Dean argued. "Once the door is closed the demon won't be able to get to you."

"I don't care," Sam sulked.

Dean decided upon a new tactic. "I promised Mom that I would protect you."

"And I promised Mom I wouldn't leave you to be alone. Wouldn't let you push me away," Sam countered. Dean went to open his mouth but for a moment he couldn't force any words out surprised and shocked that his mother had told Sam to look after him. "Please don't make me stay here," Sam begged. He could feel tears stinging at his eyes at the thought of being without Dean.

Sammy," Dean said in exasperation as he tried to ignore the younger man's tears. He had to make Sam understand even though it would break his heart. "My time isn't like here.... it's more... well complicated and violent. You might hate it."

"I won't hate it," Sam interrupted stubbornly wiping at the tears that insisted on running down his face.

"And my life...," Dean shrugged slightly. "Is totally crappy. I can hardly look after myself and keep myself safe. I might not be able to protect you..... you from... from..," Dean dropped his eyes ashamed and not able to admit his worst fear. That he wouldn't be able to protect Sam from his own father, that was if the man was still alive and he hadn't killed him. Dean shuddered as the image of his father lying in his own blood assailed his mind.

"I can take care of myself," Sam said softly. "I'll take care of you too."

Dean snapped his head up sharply at the words. No-one ever had ever offered to take care of him. "What?" he uttered in surprise.

"I said," Sam repeated brushing a hand lightly over the bruises on Dean's face. "I can take care of myself ... and you. We'll take care of each other. OK?"

"Sammy," Dean sighed. "There would be no coming back. Beatrice is here. Your father is here. I can't take you away from all this. I just can't... it wouldn't be right. Your life is here."

"But you'll be there," Sam said softly. "And I don't want to be here alone ... if you're there in my future."

Dean found it hard to believe that Sam was willing to give up his comfortable life and come with him. He shook his head. "I can't offer you a life like this," he waved his hand in the air. "I live on the road. In crappy motels going from place to place." Despite his protests Dean could feel his resolve weakening even more Sam's words and his obvious love.

"I don't care. I just want you," Sam said firmly. "Do you want me?" Sam held his breath knowing that the rest of his life and his future happiness depended on Dean's answer.

Dean looked deep into the gentle loving eyes. He saw his future with this man at his side. He saw love and companionship, something he had never had but craved. He saw his chance for happiness. Dean took a deep breath and gave a small nod. "More than anything," he said softly as his resolve shattered completely.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "Then it's all settled then," he said determined as he caressed Dean's face again. "I'm coming with you. And we're both gonna send that demon back to hell or whatever. Together."

"But I don't .... don't know if you can," Dean bit at his lips.

Sam scrunched up his face deep in thought for a moment. "I'm dead... right?" he finally asked. "And that thing told me that I don't belong here," he continued. "That it brought me and Mom here when I was a baby."

Dean flinched at the brutal honesty in the words. He nodded. "You died in the greenhouse fire. I even found your grave," he murmured.

"So," Sam said. "If I stay here. Live out my life. I could change things in the future by accident."

"I suppose," Dean acknowledged reluctantly.

"I don't really... really understand all this," Sam threw up his hands frustrated.

"Me neither," Dean admitted with a wry grin. "They never found a body." Dean frowned as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"They never found my body?" Sam repeated horrified at the thought. But then a thought struck him. He frowned as he tried to work it out in his head. The demon had shown him a glimpse of his alternative life. Dean had saved him as a baby.

"No Beatrice told me that they never found a body," Dean shook his head his mind working a mile a minute.

"So perhaps you always came back and saved me and that's why they ... they never found my body," Sam took the thought right out of Dean's head. "Perhaps it was.... was like your destiny," Sam offered as he gave a positive nod of his head. The explanation felt right and the thought that they were destined to meet made him feel warm inside.

"May be," Dean conceded shaking his head in frustration. It was a confusing thought but it had a convincing and credible ring to it. His mother had said it had been his destiny - may be she had been right. May be their lives had, and always would be, intertwined and linked with each other. He had never been alone. Sam had been always been waiting for him and he had always been waiting for Sam and somehow they had reached out to each other through time. The thoughts made Dean feel warm inside.

"How do you do it?" Sam waved a hand at the archway thinking that it didn't look very magical at all. "You know move back and forwards through time."

"I don't.... don't know. I just kinda find myself here... and then there.. back in my time," Dean stuttered. "Your mother," he started to say.

"Our mother," Sam corrected with a small smile.

Dean took a breath. "Our mother said that the demon used the archway as a kinda door between the two time periods but there had to be a link.... and she thought the link was you," he pointed a finger at Sam. "You were born in my time. But you lived here. Therefore you... and you alone linked the two time periods."

"And you?" Sam asked curious.

Dean shrugged. "Mom guessed I was somehow using the same link as the demon... you." He shrugged again.

Sam stared at the archway lost in thought for a moment. "So I could walk through with you?" he said as he eyed the archway warily. "Back to where I have always belonged."

"May be," Dean repeated.

"So what are we waiting for?" Sam said with as much confidence as he could muster. He grabbed his bag shrugging it onto his shoulder.

"Sammy," Dean grabbed one of Sam's arm. "Are you sure? This," he waved his hand around absently. "Is your life. Your home. It's all you know. He had to make Sam understand that there was no turning back. That this was a one way ticket from 1948 to 2007 in one step.

"I'm sure," Sam interjected holding Dean's determined stare with a determined stare of his own. "And I'll learn to live in your time. It's my time too." Sam bent down retrieving the stones thrusting them at Dean. "Perhaps you should take these ..... in case," he looked into Dean's eyes as his voice wavered slightly. "In case it doesn't work."

Dean accepted the stones looking down at them. "Perhaps we should take one each," he offered one of the stones back to Sam who accepted it with a nod placing it carefully into his bag. Dean stuffed his own rock into his jacket pocket.

Sam eyed the archway nervously. He looked back to Dean who was giving the archway the same wary look. They stared at each other for a moment. Suddenly and at the same time they found themselves in one another's arms clutching at the other as their mouths crashed together in a desperate and loving kiss. Love and passion consumed the two men as they claimed each other losing themselves in the embrace and the kiss. Lips and tongues gently caressed the other as they allowed the love they felt for each other to overwhelm them for a brief moment knowing that the kiss may be the last one they ever shared. Panting heavily Dean reluctantly pulled away. He caressed his hand down Sam's face.

"OK. Let's do this," Dean held his hand out towards Sam. "You ready Sammy?"

Sam nodded giving Dean a small smile. "And it's Sam," Sam whispered as he took hold of Dean's hand.

"Always be Sammy to me," Dean gripped Sam's hand tightly in his. "I love you. I will always love you," he breathed as he pulled Sam towards the archway. Sam closed his eyes and let Dean lead him towards his future. Dean fingered the amulet his mother had given him with his free hand for luck. "Please let him come with me," Dean whispered to himself as they walked hand in hand through the archway.

 

 

**"I promise you**

**Someday we'll be together**

**Forever Love**

**I won't give up no matter what**

**I'll be waiting for you**

**Forever Love"**

 

Dean didn't realise he had been holding his breath and had his eyes closed until he felt the light mist of November rain hit his face and he knew that he was home in 2007.

"Are we here?" a voice behind him asked.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief offering up a silent prayer of thanks as he realised that Sam was still tightly clutching his hand. It had worked. Sam had been able to walk through time with him. "Yeah we're here," Dean glanced over his shoulder and grinned at the younger man. Without thinking he pulled Sam towards him and claimed the younger man's lips in a gentle kiss. Sam leaned into the kiss returning it with a tenderness that belied his need.

Sam pulled out of the embrace first smiling at Dean happy that the older man had initiated the kiss without prompting. He looked around quickly. "It looks the same," he said softly and Dean thought he could hear a hint of disappointment in the tone.

"I think you have your sister Beatrice to thank for that," Dean squeezed Sam's hand. "But outside these grounds I swear it'll be different."

Sam gave Dean a small smile. "Do you think the demon knows we're here?" he asked as he looked around again this time nervously.

"Yeah probably," Dean answered honestly. "Let's check if the trap is still OK," Dean tugged at Sam's hand. "And then see if we can lure that thing to us."

"Do we really have to?" Sam asked. "Couldn't we just leave?" he asked even though, deep down, he knew the answer.

Dean sighed. "I wish we could," he said with another sigh as he squeezed Sam's hand. "But that thing is dangerous. We need to get rid of it so .... so it can't hurt anyone else. OK?"

"OK," Sam replied reluctantly with his own small sigh.

Dean gave him a sharp nod. "OK. Let's get this show on the road," he headed towards the formal gardens Sam in tow.

 

**Fifteen minutes later.....**

 

Sam paced the small shed restlessly. Every now and again he peeped through the crack in the doorway to make sure no-one was coming close. After they had inspected the formal gardens and Dean had satisfied himself that the trap was still in place, Sam had led them to the half hidden garden shed. Dean had then insisted that he stay and hide in the shed while he went to get some equipment they would need to send the demon back to hell. He knew it was safer but he felt frustrated that Dean was treating him like a small child. Sam sighed guessing that he would have to get used to the over-protective instincts of his brother, his lover. Sam knew that Dean had only been gone for minutes but he glanced down at his watch anyway to see that the hands had frozen and couldn't help noticing that the watch had stopped at about the time they had both stepped through the archway.

Even though he felt a bit afraid Sam was also excited about being in 2007 where he belonged. He couldn't begin to imagine how the world had change since 1948 and couldn't wait to experience everything. Sam didn't regret his decision to leave his home and his family. He was with Dean, would be with Dean for the rest of their lives and to him that was the most important thing in his life. It sounded selfish to his ears but Dean needed him and if he was honest with himself he desperately needed Dean like he had never needed anyone before.

Sam paced the shed for another twenty minutes waiting as patiently as he could for Dean to return. He jumped nervously as the door swung open to reveal Dean. "Sorry I took so long... had some other things to do. You OK?" Dean asked as he stepped into the shed shutting the door carefully behind him.

"I am now," Sam answered with a small smile immediately feeling safe when Dean was close. He noticed the shotgun in Dean's hands but decided against asking about it.

Dean right away sensed Sam looking at his weapon. "It's OK Sammy," he assured. "It's loaded with rock salt."

"Rock salt?" Sam questioned.

"Won't kill the bastard but it will give it a nasty pain in the ass," he grinned at Sam. "And might give us an edge if we run into trouble." He patted his jacket pocket. "Got some more ammo just in case."

"OK," Sam nodded accepting the strange explanation. He had a lot to learn. "And what about the gun in the back of your jeans?" he asked curious. Sam had seen a flash of silver when Dean had closed the shed door. "Is that one loaded with rock salt too?"

Dean shook his head. "No," he admitted. "This one," he reached around retrieving the gun and held it out for Sam to see. "Is special. Or so our father thinks," Dean shrugged. "It's a Colt loaded with special bullets. I took it from Dad's bag."

"Special bullets?" Sam asked still curious.

"Bullets that can kill a demon," Dean simply answered as he tucked the gun back into the back of his jeans.

"Really?" Sam's eyes widened.

"Well," Dean shrugged. "So some crazy old hunter said. Said the gun was specially designed to kill demons by some guy called Samuel Colt. And I think Dad believed him for some crazy assed reason."

Sam nodded. "Do you think it will?" he asked softly.

"Guess we got nothing to lose but I don't really know," Dean answered truthfully. "And when I told Dad I thought it was a bunch of crap," he pointed to his cheek. "He gave me one of these." Dean cursed himself realising his slip. He cared about Sam, was beginning to trust him but Dean had promised himself that he would never tell Sam about their father beating him and he hoped and prayed that Sam hadn't noticed his mistake.

Sam immediately noted Dean's slip and stepped closer. It was the first time Dean had admitted to being beaten by his father and Sam marked it up to a small victory for their relationship hoping that it meant that Dean was beginning to trust him. "I'm sorry," Sam traced a finger over the bruised cheek. He studied Dean's face and frowned. He looked pale and shaken and Sam swore he could feel his brother shuddering slightly. "Are you OK?" he asked in concern.

Dean drew back from the touch. "Yeah. Yeah," he waved aside Sam's concerns. "I'm fine," he said but Sam knew it was a lie - he could feel Dean trembling under his touch. "Here," Dean shoved a leather bound journal at Sam trying to distract the younger man away from himself. "We might need this."

"What is it?" Sam idly flicked through the pages his eyes widening at the pictures and information contained on each page. He looked up at Dean questioningly.

"Dad's journal," Dean answered simply. Sam noticed that Dean's voice wavered slightly at every mention of their father and he frowned again remembering that Dean thought he had killed him. "Did something happen?" he asked waving a hand absently at the doorway.

"No," Dean answered too quickly averting his eyes.

"Dean," Sam said stubbornly. "Did you hear something about your... I mean our father?" he asked tentatively.

Dean paled even more if that was possible. He turned away from Sam knowing that he couldn't lie. "Yeah," he answered softly. "I heard a couple of the gardeners talking. Said he was taken to hospital with a bad concussion. He's alive and kicking," Dean said not able to keep the hint of bitterness out of his voice. "I didn't ..... didn't kill him."

"That's good, isn't it?" Sam stepped into Dean's personal space making the older man face him. "I know he .... he hurts you all the time but I know you would never want to kill him." Sam caressed a hand idly over Dean's bruised wrists.

"How do you know he hurts me all the time?" Dean frowned stepping away from Sam suddenly afraid. He knew he had let slip about one bruise but didn't think Sam would be able to work out the other beatings from that one mistake and Dean wasn't ready, would never be ready, to tell his brother about his father's life long abuse. It hurt too much and he felt ashamed.

Sam noticed the movement and stepped back into Dean's personal space. He wasn't letting his brother push him away. "I saw it," Sam explained. "You were in my dreams for months. Ever since our mother died. I could see you being beaten .. could hear you crying out in pain but I could never see the man who was hurting you. But I know now that it was our father."

"Oh," was the only answer Dean could utter. His mind was racing. The hurt and pain of the beatings were nothing compared to the thought that Sam only felt sorry for him and didn't really love him. That everything was a lie borne out of pity and sympathy. He felt his trust crumbling. "I don't want you feeling sorry for my ass," he snapped hurt.

"I don't," Sam said gently but firmly. "I love you. That's the only reason I am here. Nothing else. I love you Dean," he repeated steadily.

Dean stared at Sam searching his face again for evidence of a lie or any look of pity. Sam didn't flinch holding Dean's stare knowing that what the older man saw in his eyes was important. Dean could feel himself relaxing slightly satisfied that all he could see in Sam's gentle eyes were truth and love. It was all he had ever seen ever since the day they had met and he didn't understand why he just couldn't trust Sam or his own feelings. Dean sighed in frustration at his ineptitude and inability to express himself in words. "I don't... I can't talk about it," Dean forced the words out. "It.... it...," he stuttered suddenly running out of words. Dean looked up at Sam forlornly knowing that he really owed his brother an explanation.

"It's OK," Sam soothed. "You tell me when you're ready. I can wait. We've got forever," he smiled.

Dean stared at Sam. At the gentle openness and trust in the other man's expression. So loving and so trusting. Trusting and loving someone was so alien to Dean but he loved Sam and he decided it was about time Dean Winchester took a leap of faith into the arms of someone who so obviously cared for him. Dean took a deep calming breath. "I was afraid I'd killed him," he finally managed to force the words out. "And... and I didn't feel anything," he turned tortured eyes towards Sam. "Nothing," he admitted in a whisper. "I think.... I think I was even glad he.... he was d-d-dead," he stammered.

"Oh Dean," Sam breathed not able to imagine what it had been like for Dean all these years. Being beaten and hurt while at the same time loving and hating their father. Sam had never really gotten on with his own father, step-father his mind automatically corrected, but he had never been beaten or hurt by the man. He was starting to understand why Dean was so tortured, so wounded and so untrusting but Sam had plans to put that right even if it took him his whole life. He would make sure that Dean knew he was loved and cared for every day. "It's OK. It's OK," Sam repeated trying to reassure the older man with a small smile. "But I also know that whatever he has done to you in the past you would never have wanted him dead."

"I guess," Dean nodded slightly. But now he had a new fear. His father was alive and he was terrified. Terrified that he would find out about Sam and hurt him. Dean didn't care about himself he was used to the beatings and pain but there was no way that John Winchester was ever going to lay a finger on Sam. It would be over Dean's dead body. Dean decided to change the subject quickly. He didn't want to talk or think about his father any more. He tapped the journal in Sam's hand. "The old man writes everything down in that thing.... there's a verse in there that we can use to banish the demon. But it's in Latin. Do you think you could read it if we need to use it?" he asked.

"I think so," Sam said as confidently as he could manage. He turned down the page so he could find the verse easily when he needed it. Sam also recognised the change in subject for what it was - Dean had said as much as he could for now about his father but was still finding it difficult. Sam decided that they were going to talk more about their father but now was not the right time or place. He made a mental note filing the subject away in his mind for a more appropriate time.

"Good," Dean gave Sam a small encouraging smile. "Now this is plan."

 

**An hour later......**

 

They were standing next the formal gardens waiting in silence. It was still raining lightly and there was a chill in the air but the moon was bright illuminating the gardens making them look eerily supernatural. The house itself was in complete darkness - Beatrice and Samantha had obviously retired early, and the gardeners had left for the day. Sam and Dean were alone. Suddenly the temperature seemed to drop a few more degrees and a whooshing sound filled the air.

"Hello boys," a deep voice said from behind them.

Both younger men swung around. Sam clutched at Dean nervously. Dean gripped his shotgun tightly and grit his teeth. This was something he hadn't expected. Standing in front of them, large as life, was their father - John Winchester.

"Dad," Dean couldn't help gasping in shock as he instinctively pushed Sam behind him protectively. Sam let out a small gasp himself realising that this was his biological father. The man that he could never see in his visions, the man that beat and hurt Dean. The man that made Dean afraid of feeling love or believing that he could be loved. Sam could feel himself bristling with anger but stamped down the urge to leap forwards and beat the man that had hurt Dean all his life.

"No," the man cackled nastily. "But he's in here with me. He says hi," the demon sneered as its eyes flashed bright amber. "Even though you gave him one hell of a headache with your little temper tantrum," the demon leaned in close to Dean. "And he says he will make you pay for that later," it hissed.

Dean shrank back. He could feel himself trembling again and he cursed himself silently for his inborn fear of his father. Dean wasn't afraid of the demon but he was terrified of his father. He hadn't counted on this in his plan but the demon had somehow known and had decided to possess his father's body, the one thing that would throw him off balance, off his hunter's game. Dean could feel his terror clutching and clawing at him trying to overwhelm him. Dean's mouth was suddenly dry and he gripped the shotgun tightly as he backed away from the demon shoving Sam as he moved. "Stay away," he threatened his voice wavering with fear.

"Me or your loving father?" the demon taunted with a cackle.

Dean swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a second. Opening them Dean glared at the demon too afraid to say something in case his voice gave him away again. Sam immediately sensed Dean's fear instinctively knowing the reason for it. He had to calm his brother down and he did the only thing he could think of. "Dean," he breathed as he put a steadying hand on Dean's trembling arm in an effort to comfort. Sam's warm hand on his arm immediately made Dean feel safe and he turned to his brother giving him a small smile.

"That is so sweet," the demon said its tone laced with venom. "The touch of a brother... or is it lover?"

"That's none of your business," Sam jutted his chin out obstinately as he kept his hand on Dean's arm.

"I see you escaped my little fire," the demon turned its attention to Sam. "And have come back to where you belong." The demon smiled as its eyes flashed orange again. "And I see you have one of my stones," it pointed a finger at Sam's free hand. Sam gave a small smile before throwing the stone into the air. The demon lurched forwards in an effort the snatch the stone out of the air with its mind control. But before it could direct the stone towards its outstretched hand Dean turned to the side slightly, aimed the shotgun, pulled the trigger and hit the stone dead centre smashing it into a thousand pieces. The shattered pieces of stone hit the ground in a shower of orange/brownish dust.

The demon stopped in its tracks and glared at the brothers. "Good shot," the demon applauded clapping its hand together slowly. "Your Daddy would be so proud," it sneered. Dean glared silently cursing himself for the tremble that still insisted on running through his whole body.

"But you needed to destroy both end stones," the demon explained with a sharp barking laugh as he made a arch shape in the air with one finger. "I can still walk back and forwards through time whenever I please."

Dean could feel the weight of the second stone in his pocket and he resisted the urge to pat his jacket to make sure it was still there. "May be," he cocked his head to one side as he one-handedly reloaded the shotgun. His hand was shaking but he forced himself to reload the shotgun without dropping a rock salt bullet. Dean was desperately trying to convince himself that it wasn't his father standing in front of him but he was having a hard time keeping himself in control. His fear was threatening to choke him but he had to keep strong. For Sam. For himself. For them both and their future together.

"And don't go thinking you can get me in there," the demon nodded towards the formal gardens. "I see the trap is back in place. Clever boys," it clapped its hands again.

"Never entered my mind," Dean quipped managing to keep the quiver out of his voice. He had known that the demon would never step into the trap a second time so he had taken some time to prepare the rose garden. Dean just hoped that things would work out for them.

The demon let out a harsh barking laugh. "I bet," it said disbelievingly. The demon ignored Dean turning its attention back to Sam. "Little Sammy," it hissed.

"It's Sam to you," Sam retorted angrily.

The demon snorted. "Oh why oh why did you come here? You have no family here," the demon laughed as it studied John's bitten finger nails. "Such a bad habit," it grinned at the younger men waving its fingers absently in the air. "Don't you think?" the demon cocked its head to one side smiling broadly.

"I have Dean," Sam retorted angrily. "And he has me. That's family enough for me. For us."

"So sweet," the demon advanced on them again. "True that you have each other for now. But there's no-one else. I killed them all," it cackled evilly again. "Mary's father. Her younger brother and his family," the demon counted each one of on his fingers. "And then finally Mary's elder brother and his family. All dead. They never knew what hit them. The fires lit up the sky. It was wonderful," the demon taunted gleefully.

"Demon's lie," Dean said through gritted teeth not being able to believe that the demon had enough time to murder their mother's entire family. "You didn't have time," he accused despite the fact that he knew from the look on the demon's face that it was true. Mary's family were all dead. Tears sprang to his eyes and he willed them away in an effort to protect Sam from the truth.

"Oh but I did... and enjoyed every moment of it. I wiped the bitch's entire family off the face of the earth," the demon said its voice silky and even. "I was just looking for the last one. Someone she cared about. Mary's best friend as a child....," it leered at Sam pointing a finger. "When I sensed you."

Even though he had never known his mother's family Sam felt a deep anger and sadness growing within him. "I don't believe you," he snapped as tears sprang to his eyes. "They... they were hunters." He looked from the demon to Dean and back again. He could see that his brother had tears in his own eyes and Sam knew that Dean, despite his words, believed that Mary's family were now dead.

"Dead hunters now.... they weren't expecting me," the demon continued to taunt. "All but Bobby Singer.. and I'll go and kill him when I'm done with you two. Mary's precious babies." The demon's eyes flashed bright orange. "It's just a pity that I couldn't kill her myself but I'll take what I can get.... with the pneumonia killing her for me. So boys," the demon cocked its head to one side. "My revenge on your bitch of a mother will be complete with your deaths."

"Don't call her that," Sam screamed leaping forwards as his anger got the better of him. Before he had a chance to get close to the demon Dean grabbed his younger brother and hauled him backwards roughly. Dean kept a firm and tight hold of Sam not letting him go pulling him close to his body. He could feel Sam's heart pounding against his side as he held his brother. "Sammy," he hissed. "It's what it wants. Now calm down." Sam struggled against Dean's hold for a moment before finally giving up. He looked sideways at Dean and gave a reluctant nod. He knew Dean was right but at this moment all he wanted to do was rip the demon's head off.

"Ahhhhh. You boys are so enchanting," the demon teased with a grin. "But you still have to die. Ohhh but before you die I just thought I'd tell you that your father," it waved a hand from Sam to Dean. "Knows all about you two... I just couldn't help telling him," it cackled happily. "And he thinks it's disgusting. Thinks you should go to hell, both of you. And I'm just the person to send you both there."

"You first," Dean threatened as he aimed the shotgun again.

"Tsk. Tsk," the demon waggled a finger at Dean. "You know that can't hurt me."

Dean knew that the rock salt wouldn't kill the demon or his father but it would give them some time. "But it stings like a bitch," Dean gave a small grin as he squeezed the trigger hitting the demon dead centre in the chest. The demon gave him a surprised look before it howled in pain collapsing to the ground in a heap. "Run Sammy," Dean screamed as he turned slightly and shoved his younger brother towards the rose garden. "Run and don't look back," he ordered as he glanced towards their father again. The black smoke of the demon was leaving John Winchester's body rising up into the air and disappearing from view.

Instead of running Dean was frozen to the spot staring in fascination as he witnessed his father take possession of his body again. His father struggled to a sitting position clutching at his chest. John glared up at Dean a mixture of hate, white hot anger and disgust reflected in his dark eyes. Dean couldn't help shuddering at the look and he took a nervous step backwards. John went to open his mouth to speak as the blackness of the demon dropped out of no-where and took hold of the older hunter once more. His father's scream as the demon took possession jolted Dean out of his trance and he turned and ran as fast as he could towards the rose garden and Sam. As he ran, Dean reloaded the shotgun knowing deep down that the demon probably wouldn't let him get another shot off.

Dean found Sam in the rose garden standing by the central fountain. "You OK?" he asked as he took the second stone out of his pocket and laid it gently into the water of the fountain.

"Yeah," Sam puffed. "You?"

"Never better," Dean gave him a cocky grin.

"Why did you put the stone in there?" Sam asked puzzled pointing at the fountain. He was so confused and couldn't help asking questions. He had so much to learn and gave a frustrated sigh. "Why don't we just destroy it."

"Bargaining chip. We might need one," Dean answered simply. "And it's holy water," he dragged his fingers in the water making small waves. "The demon can't touch it while it's in there," Dean said as he stroked his fingers down the angel guarding over the water. "And the angel will help protect it."

"What?" Sam said puzzled looking at Dean as though he had gone mad.

Dean gave him a small smile now knowing what had been nagging at him about the small garden. It was the angels. He remembered his mother telling him as a small child that angels watched over and protected him. Over the years he had forgotten, not believing that anything or anyone watched over him in his misery. Perhaps today the angels would help him and Sam. "If you look around our mother protected this garden too.... with angels. See," he waved his hand around the garden. "I think that she didn't destroy the demon's doorway because she protected... and surrounded it with her angels."

"But it didn't work," Sam said softly as he looked around seeing each and every angel his mother had ever placed in the garden from those on the fountain to the smaller ones carved into some of the stones of the garden walls. Sam knew that even some of the roses had angel in their name.

"No," Dean answered sadly. "But she tried," he said as he turned towards the entrance waiting. "And she probably thought it was safe once she caught the bastard in the devil's trap."

"Yeah," Sam nodded as he too turned his attention to the entrance.

"Keep behind me," Dean ordered. Sam rolled his eyes but complied with the request.

Minutes later as expected the demon appeared in the archway. "Boys," the demon sneered. "Now Dean that wasn't very nice... shooting your Daddy like that." The demon peered around the garden suspiciously as though it was afraid to step into the area. It narrowed its eyes as it noted the stone in the fountain's water. "You're smarter than you look," the demon said as it nodded towards the fountain. "Holy water?" it questioned looking from Dean to Sam.

"Damn right," Dean said as he raised the shotgun. The demon cautiously stepped into the garden. It flexed its shoulders and grinned at the younger men confident that it was safe. Dean aimed at the demon knowing that it was unlikely that he would get a another shot off. He was right. "Not this time," the demon growled as it waved a hand. The shotgun flew out of Dean's hands landing in one of the rose beds with a thud. Dean backed up slightly pushing Sam as he moved.

The demon chuckled as it glared at Sam and Dean. Dean felt himself being lifted off the ground and before he could cry out a warning he found himself in the air. He vaguely heard Sam cry out as the back of his head hit the wall. Dean's vision went blurry as he slipped down the wall into the rose beds. The rose thorns cruelly scratched at his arms, hands and face as he fell forwards hitting the ground with a thud.

Dean struggled to a crouching position as he blinked away the fog from his mind and eyes to see that Sam had been flung against the opposite wall. But instead of falling forwards, the demon was holding his younger brother against the wall with its mind. Dean could see Sam clawing at his throat desperately trying to breathe as the demon exerted more and more pressure. The demon was laughing and taunting Sam about his mother and his now dead family. Sam's eyes met his and Dean could see naked fear in his brother's eyes pleading for help.

Sam's look spurred him on. "Get your filthy hands off him," Dean scrabbled to his feet ignoring the stinging scratches on his body. He retrieved the Colt from his waistband and pointed it at the demon.

The demon turned and cackled. "Patience Dean. Him first and then you," the demon turned back to Sam.

"Leave him alone," Dean snarled angrily as he cocked the gun pointing it at the demon's back.

"You can watch as I choke the life out of your.... lover," the demon mocked cruelly not turning around. "But first," it suddenly swung around to face Dean releasing the hold on Sam.

"Dean," Sam managed to squeak as the demon suddenly let him go. Sam slid to the ground rubbing at his neck drawing in deep breaths as he forced oxygen into his air starved lungs. Sam could still feel the fingers on his neck and he shuddered. Looking sideways he saw the shotgun laying within reach. Sam looked back towards the demon and Dean. For some reason the demon had lost interest in choking him for the moment and Sam cautiously shuffled to the side reaching out with hand towards the shotgun. His finger tips brushed the barrel of the weapon and he smiled to himself as he curled his hand around it pulling the gun towards him.

Dean moved his hand and aimed the Colt at the demon's head. His hand shook slightly. "Oh Dean you won't shoot me with that thing," the demon said confidently waggling a finger at the younger man. "Because along with killing me, you'll kill your Daddy this time."

Dean could see Sam moving his hand towards the shotgun and turned his attention back to the demon determined to distract it away from his brother. "You willing to take a bet?" he said cursing as his voice faltered slightly. "I don't owe my father anything," Dean gripped the gun tighter never letting his aim waver.

The demon was enjoying itself taunting Mary's older son - it was much more fun that choking the younger son. "We know you," the demon hissed leaning forward its breath caressing Dean's face. It reached up and touched Dean's face swiping a finger tip up and down Dean's bruised cheek.

Dean flinched at the touch taking a step back batting the demon's hand away from him. He shuddered at the touch. "You don't know me. You never ever knew me," he retorted not sure who he was really talking to - the demon or his father.

The demon laughed at Dean's reaction. "Daddy has something he owes you," it declared as it released its hold of John for a moment but stayed within the body to watch.

Filled with icy dread Dean took another step backwards instinctively knowing that he was faced with his father. His fear was trying to take hold and Dean could feel his hand shaking but he was determined. Determined to never be afraid of his father again. Dean took a deep breath to calm himself and gripped the gun firmly still aiming it at his father. "Dean," John said as he took a step towards his son. Without warning and catching Dean by surprise John raised his hand and hit Dean hard across the face. Dean stumbled but he managed to right himself and keep hold of the Colt. John scowled at his son. "You don't want to do that," he threatened as he grabbed Dean's bruised wrist and twisted cruelly.

Dean cried out in pain and he dropped the Colt. Ignoring the gun on the ground John grinned as he twisted his son's arm again gradually forcing Dean down onto his knees. John didn't release the pressure on Dean's arm and continued to twist the limb despite the desperate pleas from his son. Dean struggled against his father's hold and got a kick in the side for his troubles. He huffed in pain and bit at his lip in an effort to stop the threatened tears. "Dad," he begged as he struggled to get free.

John laughed as he exerted more pressure on Dean's arm and wrist. He couldn't hear his son pleading with him or telling him that this was the demon he had been hunting for over twenty years, the demon that had taken Mary and Sam. John only wanted to hurt wanting to hear and feel the bones snap under his hand. John could hear the demon in his mind laughing and egging him on and he focussed on the words drawing power from them. The demon's words made him feel strong and powerful and he continued to wield his domination over the son who had dared to raise a hand to him. John didn't really need any encouragement to hurt his son - he had years of practice and if he was honest with himself he didn't know how to stop. But all that was unimportant. Today John had to show his son just who was in charge. Dean needed to be punished for his earlier attack and learn that it was a one-off never to be repeated. With the demon chanting encouragement in his head John raised his hand again making a fist and punching Dean hard.

Dean cried out again as his father's fist connected with his cheek. Despite the pain he twisted and wriggled desperately trying to get out his father's hold but Dean knew that the demon was probably giving his father extra strength. John leaned in close to Dean. "I'm gonna teach you a lesson you'll never forget," he snarled as he slapped his older son hard.

"No," a voice screamed behind him. "Leave him alone." Surprised at the interruption John let go of Dean and turned to see Sam standing pointing a shotgun at him, the weapon wavering slightly in his hand. John took a step towards the younger man a predatory smile on his face. If the demon hadn't been lying, this young man was his son too. The son he had lost and had been searching for over twenty years. John knew he should feel happiness and relief but the demon had also shown him images of his two sons together entwined sexually. It disgusted and sickened him and they both had to be punished. John smiled at his son again as he advanced on the younger man his fist absently opening and closing. Sam swallowed hard, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger hitting John in the shoulder.

John howled in pain and staggered backwards. He could feel the demon trying to regain control of his body. "Nooooo," he screamed in anger and frustration. John's eyes flashed orange as the demon slowly took back control.

Frightened and panicked Sam fired the second shot, this time missing and hitting the angel on top of the fountain. The stone angel shattered bursting into a thousands pieces showering the ground and the demon with small white shards of stone. The demon clawed at its face as the stone chips embedding in the skin immediately produced angry red sores on its face. The sores burned with an intensity even the demon had never experienced and it cursed its foolishness for allowing itself to become distracted with tormenting Dean. It quickly took full possession of John's body again and advanced on Sam its eyes flashing bright amber in anger and fury for its own stupid mistake. Sam jutted his chin out in defiance and glared at the advancing demon. "You," the demon snarled. "Should have died twice before. I won't fail this time. You are going to die now," it flourished its hand in the air and Sam dropped to the ground clutching and clawing at his throat again. "Dean," Sam gasped as he felt the blackness of oblivion trying to claim him.

A shot rang out echoing around the silence of the garden. The demon swung around in shock and surprise to see Dean standing hugging his battered body the Colt smoking in his hand. It let go of Sam as it felt a white hot agony rushing through its very being. The demon screamed in anger as it looked down to see blood spurting out of the human's leg. It looked back to Dean desperately wanting to kill the young man but it could feel its power slowly slipping away. The demon cursed itself for under-estimating another Winchester. A surge of electricity shot through its essence and it twitched. The demon flexed its neck from side to side as it felt its life force being attacked and poisoned by the specially made bullet. The demon glared at Dean again. "Others will come for him," it screamed pointing a finger at Sam.

Sam shrank back in fear as he struggled to his feet. "Dean," he skirted around the demon quickly and stood behind his brother. Dean grabbed Sam and pulled him close. Sam immediately felt safe and secure.

"Read the verse Sammy," Dean groaned as he kept his eyes and the Colt trained on the demon. "Let's send the bastard back to hell."

Sam scrabbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out the journal. He flicked the pages over to the one he had marked earlier. Squinting down Sam began to read the Latin verse loud and clear looking up every now and again at the demon. The demon screamed, twitched and jerked with every word spoken.

"You'll never be safe," the demon screeched as it writhed in agony. "Never be free with him," the demon choked as it dropped to its knees. "He will be the death of you," it screamed in its final death throes. Black smoke rose out of John Winchester's body and hovered in the air. Both Sam and Dean repeated the final lines of the verse and watched as the black smoke exploded into a million pieces with a ear piercing scream and then disappeared. The demon who had wrecked both their lives was finally dead.

They stood in silence for a moment before looking down at the unconscious body of John Winchester. His body appeared to be smoking with the after effects of the possession. The skin of his face was covered in small round red sores where the angel's fragments had hit him. His leg was still bleeding blood soaking through his jeans turning the faded blue bright red.

"Is it gone?" Sam asked nervously looking around them.

"Yeah," Dean said. "It's gone. And this time forever."

"Mom's angel helped us," Sam said as he looked at the shattered pieces of the fountain's stone angel laying on the ground.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Perhaps Mom was right... that angels do protect you."

"But what did it mean?" Sam asked shakily. "I would never hurt you. I could never hurt you," he turned troubled eyes towards Dean. "Never," he repeated.

"Oh God Sammy I know," Dean pulled Sam into a tight embrace determined not to show his fear to Sam. He had been confused and frightened by the demon's words too but had decided to ignore them for now but he also vowed that he would protect Sam with his life if it came to it. "Demons lie. It's what they do," Dean assured as he pulled back and caressed a hand down Sam's face. "OK?"

Sam nodded slowly not entirely convinced that he wasn't a danger to Dean and he couldn't bear the thought that he would be responsible for his brother, his lover, dying. He pushed the thought out of his mind promising himself that he would protect Dean with his life if it came to it. "OK," he answered as he took Dean's hand and squeezed. Sam nodded towards their father. "Is he dead?" he asked.

"No," Dean said not knowing whether he felt relief or disappointment that his father was still alive. He nudged his father's body with a toe not able to bring himself to actually touch his father.

 

**Two hours later.....**

 

Dean looked up at Beatrice and Samantha who were standing together on the steps in front of their house. "You won't have any further problems," Dean promised with a small smile. He glanced sideways at the Impala which was parked half way up the driveway hidden from full view. He smiled to himself knowing that Sam was in the passenger seat waiting for him. The thought made him happy, really happy and for the first time in his life Dean had someone to love and protect, had someone to love him. There was still so many unanswered questions that needed answers but Dean was confident that they would be able to overcome anything that the world, human or supernatural, threw at them and they would do it together.

After they had killed the demon, they had dragged their father to one of the gardener's shed. They had tied him up after tending to his injuries. After removing the bullet and stitching up his leg, Dean had given his father a shot of antibiotic as well as a strong painkiller out of their well stocked first aid kit knowing that it and the blood loss would keep him unconscious for a few more hours. Leaving Sam to destroy the second stone, Dean had then quickly retrieved their bags from the house without being seen. Guessing that his father would quietly leave when he awoke not wanting to answer any awkward questions, Dean had dumped his bag in the corner of the shed minus the journal, five hundred dollars in cash and the keys to the Impala. Dean decided that after years of suffering abuse at his father's hand he had earned and deserved the car. The money would help them for the next few weeks and the journal would be useful if they decided to keep hunting as would the weapons hidden in the secret compartment of the Impala's trunk.

Dean had no regrets or doubts about leaving his father. He was about to finally escape the misery of his life. He was free and it was a freedom that he vowed never to give up. Dean knew that his father would probably try to track them and he wanted a good head start to get them as far away as possible.

Cuddled together in the Impala they waited an hour for morning to break spending the time discussing what to do and had finally decided to look for their mother's friend - Bobby Singer - and then move on from there. They had no other plans apart from being together. Dean smiled to himself again before turning his attention back to Beatrice and Samantha.

"Really?" Samantha asked hopefully. "You mean the ghost has gone."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "But I doubt she would have hurt you," he glanced at Beatrice. "She was a friend."

"I see," Samantha frowned at the comment. "I'll go and get your cheque. Thank you again," she said as she hurried up the steps and into the house.

"No problem," Dean answered as he nervously bounced from foot to foot. He wanted to leave. He had checked on his father and had been relieved to find him still unconscious. But he didn't want to risk staying any longer than necessary.

Beatrice smiled at him knowingly. Dean could see that Beatrice had noticed his amulet and he fingered it nervously. She nodded at him giving him another small smile. Dean could see the questions in her eyes. Questions he couldn't really answer. On an impulse Dean ran up the steps. He leant forwards and kissed Beatrice on the cheek. "He's safe," Dean whispered in her ear. "I promise." He stepped back and smiled at the older woman.

"Thank you," Beatrice replied tears in her eyes. She wanted desperately to see Sam but she knew that it was impossible. Sam had a new life to live, one that didn't include her family, one that he had obviously chosen and one that he deserved. "I knew you would save him."

"No need," Dean shrugged. "I should be thanking you."

"What for?" Beatrice gave him a puzzled frown.

"For giving me back my life," Dean shrugged again. "For giving me a chance of happiness. For giving me Sam," he whispered softly.

"I think he was always there for you. You just had to find each other," Beatrice said as she looked over her shoulder to make sure her daughter hadn't come back out. "Here," she took a thick envelope from her pocket and forced it into Dean's hand. "Take this."

Dean looked down at the envelope puzzled. "What is it?"

"Some money," Beatrice whispered. "And details of a bank account that I had my lawyer set up for you. Money will be deposited regularly."

"I can't," Dean offered the envelope back to Beatrice.

"You can.. and you will. All this," she waved a hand at the house. "Should have been Sam's," Beatrice said determined. "He deserves to have something. Take it please. It's for your future. For both of you," she gave Dean a smile. "And I won't take no for an answer. Humour an old woman."

"Sammy said you were bossy," Dean grinned as he stuffed the envelope into his jacket pocket.

Beatrice chuckled. "Just be happy," she smiled. "And be safe."

"Bye," Dean gave a small wave before turning and jogging down the steps and up the driveway towards the Impala and Sam. His future.

"Where did he go?" Samantha asked her mother as she returned from the house. "He hasn't got his cheque for the work he did."

"Oh I think he has everything he needs," Beatrice touched her daughter's arm as she turned and made her way slowly up the steps. Samantha frowned at her mother's back. With a sigh she followed Beatrice into the house.

The door to the Impala creaked as Dean opened it. He slid into the driving seat. "OK?" he smiled at Sam. Dean leant sideways and gave Sam a quick kiss on the cheek.     

"Yeah," Sam smiled back touching the skin of his cheek.

"I love you," Dean whispered.  He blushed at the admission not used to saying the words to anyone.

Sam beamed at Dean happily.    "Took you long enough to say," Sam beamed again as he leaned over and stole a quick kiss.   "Love you too," he whispered in Dean's ear.    

Dean rolled his eyes.   "You ready for 2007?" he asked.

"Is it ready for me?" Sam retorted with a grin.

Dean grinned again as he fired up the engine. The Impala roared into life and Dean gunned the engine. Small stones were kicked into the air as he sped down the driveway. Dean glanced sideways at Sam. "What are you doing over there?" he said shyly as he manoeuvred the Impala out onto the road.

Sam smiled happily and slid closer to Dean. "Just being polite and waiting for an invitation," he replied. Dean put his hand on the seat and Sam took the hint entwining their fingers together.


End file.
